


What to Expect

by AnontheNullifier



Series: The Maximoffs [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Magic Babies!, Married Scarlet Vision, Pregnancy, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9636128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnontheNullifier/pseuds/AnontheNullifier
Summary: Wanda and Vision expect that being pregnant (or being married to someone who is pregnant) is going to be difficult, but none of the books explain how to be active Avengers and come to terms with their magically conceived babies.





	1. How (Not?) to React

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anya.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Anya.), [ATendrilOfScarlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATendrilOfScarlet/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda informs Vision of the news and is not thrilled with the response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was something I'd been thinking about writing for a long time, and finally, with some gentle nudges, decided to do it. This story is meant to be a realistic look at how Wanda and Vision would deal with all of the issues surrounding starting a family. There's a fair amount of angst but also lots of fluff!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

Three minutes. Wanda has never considered assigning a number to the concept of eternity but she's certain it would be these three minutes. It takes an unanticipated amount of self control to simply remain still, powers brimming just below the surface, red flickering between her fingers with each painfully elongated second. When her timer finally beeps, Wanda almost falls off the edge of the tub, legs uncoordinated as she approaches the sink. A shaky breath in as she looks down and then out with a shuddering “Shit” followed by a hand over her mouth. She can't have just said shit, years down the line when someone asks what her first reaction was it can't be shit. But once the unmistakable touch of water hits her hand it no longer matters as Wanda turns around, tears blurring the room, forcing her to find a wall and slide down it until she's on the floor.

For what it's worth, she has no idea what emotion to assign the tears, torn between joy, fear, nervousness, disbelief, excitement, trepidation, or maybe something else entirely. Adding to the confusion is the way thoughts speed through her mind so quickly that not a single, discernible notion of intelligible meaning emerges. Nothing makes sense.

A half-laugh, half-sob falls from her lips.

A piercing four note chime startles her, hand rummaging in the pockets of her sweatshirt until she finds her phone. “Shit.” Wanda leans her head against the wall, fingers shaking as she wipes the evidence of tears from her face and steadies her voice enough to talk. One final breath out and she taps the screen, smile forced in an effort to convince not only him but herself that everything is okay. “What’s up, Maximoff?”

It doesn’t matter that it’s been seven months or that she’s called him that multiple times a day, the way Vision’s lips rise and irises flick counterclockwise in wonderment fills her with adoration, her own smile moving from forced to genuine with ease. “Good evening, Wanda. How are you?”

Which is a loaded question, eyes briefly wandering to the counter. “I’m...okay?”

“Have you been crying?”

She lifts a finger to her face, confirming a new stream of tears from her left eye. “Yeah, Sam made me watch Marley and Me, damn dog, right?” The downturn of his lips and sympathetic nod confirms that he buys the lie. “How’s the mission?”

Vision’s shrug is synchronized with a scrunch of his lips that conveys a general air of eh. “The locals seem to believe I am the devil and thus Agent Romanov determined it best to relegate me to ship duty in an attempt to reduce the chance of mass hysteria.”

“Poor thing.”

“It is terribly boring and the playlist Sam provided seems to consist of one, ever looping song of questionable taste.”

Wanda laughs, relief washing over her the longer she stares at his face and listens to his voice. “I was wondering when you were going to find that. You mean you don’t like Sir Mix-a-lot?” A shake of his head and another scrunch of his lips is all the response she needs to bring another laugh from her lungs.

Vision turns his face away from the screen, head nodding at someone who just entered the ship. “I must go, Captain Rogers wishes to meet. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Alright, have a safe trip back. Love you.”

A gentle smile and a “Love you, too” ends the call. Wanda breathes out, hands pushing down against the ground as she stands. Hesitantly she walks to the sink, picking up the stick and confirming that the two lines still exist. So she’s pregnant, nothing wrong with that, she and Vision have been talking about the possibility of children for months, poring over the different options and avenues, so clearly this is not unwanted. It’s just, she needs to figure out how to tell him, balancing the joy of such a miracle with the very scientifically confirmed fact that it's supposed to be impossible. Wanda moves to their room, pacing in a u-shaped path around the bed, mind running through all the potential questions Vision is likely to ask.

The first, she imagines, will be “Are you sure?” And the box claimed a 99% accuracy so, yes fairly sure, but, he’d probably point out the extraordinary nature of their lives and the fact that she could quite likely be part of the 1% that gets a false positive. Wanda grabs a water bottle and starts drinking, wandering back into the bathroom to grab another test and then she can hear the annoyingly articulate way he’d inquire if this particular brand offers the most rigorous assessment. A aggravated “fine” is sighed into the air as Wanda grabs her Steve-approved baseball cap and aviators, checking herself once over before leaving the room.

  
  


Wanda stands frozen in the aisle, eyes flicking across the numerous boxes, most varying shades of pinks and purples, with blue speckled in between. This is why she only bought the one kind before, deciding on the cheapest and easiest to grab, because somehow there are fifteen different options. Some offering accuracy up to one day after a missed period, others not specifying, though whether it means the result would be different is unclear.  But, Wanda determines, a false negative is not the issue so early detection probably isn't the most pressing concern.

Another woman walks down the aisle and Wanda can feel her heartbeat increasing, palms clamming up as she ducks her head down creating a curtain of hair between them. If anyone got a picture of an Avenger buying a pregnancy test it would be guaranteed to make the front page of tomorrow’s news. Given the already tempestuous response to her marriage, that is not something Wanda’s willing to risk. Luckily the woman keeps going, moving into the next aisle without even glancing in her direction.

Wanda turns her attention back to the shelf and frowns, indecision gnawing away at her patience. Does she go with a test that gives lines, or is a cross pattern better? There is a $40 box that offers a clearly labeled “Pregnant :)” or “Not Pregnant :(.” Another person enters the aisle and Wanda impulsively grabs three different brands, figuring Vision can’t argue with all of them, and moves to the checkout, happily remembering her somewhat strategic choice of store as this is the only one nearby with a self-checkout.

  
  


The next morning she sits on the bed, legs crossed and hands delicately balanced on her knees, eyes closed as scarlet weaves around her body. Any minute now Vision will phase through the wall and have his life changed forever, hopefully for the good, but she spent an insomniatic night going through each possible reaction, wholly unsure of the most likely outcome.

Wanda sighs, briefly losing the center of calm she so carefully constructed. Where she thought eternity existed in the limbo of three minutes, she realizes now that waiting for Vision constitutes a different plane of eternity, one that transcends multiple universes. Wanda imagines, thanks to a recent afternoon on the roof spent hypothesizing with Vision, that for all time there is at least one universe that always houses a close to trembling Wanda waiting to break the news. Unfortunately it appears that her universe is currently fulfilling that duty.

The roar of the quinjet’s engines and the clicking of landing gear signals the return of her teammates. Based on years of observation, assuming he doesn't get pulled into an immediate debriefing, it usually takes Vision about three minutes to phase from the hangar to their room. Wanda nods her head, fingers curling into fists as she readies herself for another eternity. Though this time she figures she can track it, eyes closing tighter as her mind reaches out, seeking the serenity of ordered thoughts and carefully controlled emotions, a smile tugging at her lips once she hones in on its beauty. The feeling of matter rushing through her, the light breeze of molecules parting and trailing along her arms, hair standing on edge at the tingle of a metal wall as compared to the glass windows has become almost an addiction. Vision moves from the hangar into the conference room, down the hall, a sense of weightlessness holding her breath hostage as he phases up through the duct system to enter the common room, a pressure in her hand confirms a goodwill offering of tea, a rapid succession of his stroll through the walls and then a brilliant white burst of joy. “Hey there.”

Still in his mind, she can feel the pull of his cheeks, muscles easing into a lopsided smile as he approaches her, her fingers twitching when he places the mug on the table, and a warmth billowing up from her stomach and extended out to wrap around them as he presses his lips to her own. Immediately all senses converge on the smooth ridges of his lips and the slight, yet exhilarating press of his mouth. Once it ends, Wanda opens her eyes and takes in the unruffled lines of his meticulously crafted sweater and dress shirt. “Hello, Wanda. Ten in the morning and yet still in bed.”

“Oh shut up.”

Vision’s lips part for a rare, toothy grin. “Would you like your gift?”

Their routine has been set for a long time, an unspoken agreement of a token for each mission apart and then a joint one for each mission together. It started as a way to decorate their room, when they finally moved in together, a methodological process to add in touches of each personality while also including pieces that represented them as one unit. “Of course, how was the rest of the mission?”  

A small, white box with a red bow is passed into her hands as he sits down next to her. “Similarly boring, the talks apparently went well and it was deemed overall to be successful.”

“Good.” Wanda fiddles with the ribbon, giving up after a couple seconds and tearing it off with an arc of red from her finger. Inside the box is an intricately painted wooden figurine, skin red with malevolent eyes, black lines traced along the scalp and down the arms, a brown robe wrapped around the body, and two tiny horns coming up from the head. She holds it up so that it is level with his face, eyes squinting in scrutiny. “You know, I can certainly see the resemblance.”

“It is striking.”

A moment of contentment leads into budding nerves. “I, um,” the half of the night that wasn’t spent in soul-crushing contemplation of all the ways this could go horribly wrong, was instead dedicated to a careful rehearsal of exactly how to break the news. Wanda bites her lip at the subtle tilt of his head, anticipation of the rest of her sentence evident on his face as she reaches behind her back and grabs a box. “I have, um, something for you as well.” Once he takes it, Wanda can feel her body sag with relief that at least for right now it is out of her hands.

Vision stares down at the box, flicking his eyes up to level a curious stare at her before looking back down, fingers lifting the lid and then stopping. She watches as his eyes rotate, first to the right and then back to the left, jaw dropping just enough to part his lips. “Wanda?”

“Vision.”

She can sense the conflict in his mind as he chooses his response. “This is not some elaborate prank you and Sam concocted while I was gone, is it?”  Well, at least shit isn't the worst response to finding out anymore.

“No.”

“I see.” And that’s all he says for what feels like a whole new type of eternity, the air between them thickening as he lifts the stick out of the box to examine it better. Wanda finds herself concentrating on his hand, mesmerized by the way light bends against his vibranium wedding ring. “You…” her eyes move up to his face, latching on to the curve of his lips as she waits for the rest of the statement. “You are pregnant?”

“Appears so.”  

His eyes blink, and then he appears to lose control of them, lids fluttering in time with the rapid fire of half-formed thoughts in his brain. “Are you sure? From my understanding there is a small chance of a type I error with such tests.”

“Hold on.” Wanda stands from the bed, moving into the bathroom where she grabs a small tub and returns to the bed. “Have a look.” Her eyes follow along with his as he stares at the sea of double lines and crosses and Pregnant :)s.  

Dense, uncomfortable silence remains between them as he shakes the tub, checking that each and every test has the same result. And then he surprises her, a broad smile parting his lips, arms wrapping around her as he stands to bring her into a full bodied hug, twirling her around three times before finishing with a drawn out kiss. Relief washes over her, tears pricking at her eyes while she grabs the sides of his face, melting into his lips.

For a time there is nothing else, simply the uniform beating of their hearts and the euphoric press of his body against hers, his mouth never straying far from smiling. This, this is something that should last an eternity and yet she can sense the pinpoint of logic forming at the back of his mind, attempts with a stroke of her hands and a deepening of the kiss to exorcise it from his thoughts, yet it grows until he leans back, fingers still tangled in her hair. Though the smile remains for now, tips of his lips inching downwards, his eyes widen and Wanda realizes she hasn’t seen a look like this since she buried him ten stories in the ground. The next words are a whisper, “Wanda,” syllables breaking his thought in two, tone starting high and tumbling down into a meager, terrified question, “how?”

Having spent the majority of her adolescence in a mode of continual survival has produced certain defense mechanisms that typically are not an issue, until she utilizes them incorrectly. “Come on, I know Helen gave you the Talk.” She reaches out to rub his arm, a half-hearted smile attempting to ease away the tension. “When two people love each other very much…”

“Yes, you are fully aware that I understand the mechanisms of sexual intercourse. I just,” Vision steps away from her, removing himself a distance away that she cannot easily reach out and touch him. “I am sterile, Wanda. How?” In all the years they have known each other, through every high and the unfortunate lows, Wanda has never felt such a cloud fill his mind, words caught in a cyclone of despairingly sharp logic, never slowing enough to form a complete sentence. And she sympathizes, knowing her own mind reeled the day before yet she finds his terrifying, realizing in this moment the reliance she has on the surety of his calm and ordered thoughts. “How?”

Wanda sits on the edge of the bed, “Maybe you’re not sterile after all.”

“All of the tests were conclusive.”

“Well,” she shifts to the side just enough to reach out to him, “it’s not like there’s another possibility, it has to be you.” And her fingers dip through his shoulder, tears gathering in the the corners of her eyes when he refuses to look at her.

“Are you sure that I am th--” Vision shuts his mouth, mind clamping instantly at the disparaging thought though not quickly enough for her to miss the implication and the image of the damn pool boy who wouldn’t stop flirting with her on their honeymoon. “Wanda, may I have time to process this?”

She wants to say ‘of course’, wants to run her hands over his back, wants to whisper assurances of her devotion, but instead she just stares, a sob shaking her body as he phases down through the floor.

  
  


Wanda doesn’t see him again that night, fading in and out of sleep, each disoriented moment of wakefulness punctuated by a hand reaching out and finding the sheets cold next to her. The next morning is no better, though there is a fresh cup of tea on the nightstand, either an olive branch or an unfortunate habit he has yet to break. As time ticks by, eternally long seconds morphing into minutes, which transform into hours filled with eons, Wanda finds herself wandering the compound, haunting the hallways with her listless attempts at distraction.

“You okay?” Sam’s voice stops her in the common space, caught halfway between the couch and the doorway.

“Have you seen Vision?”

His eyes narrow, studying her with therapeutic interest, “Yeah, we were supposed to do a paired training this morning but he said he wasn’t able to concentrate. Whatever you two are fighting about, he is in full on brood mode.” The satisfied lift to the right side of his mouth means he detected the brief smirk on her own face. “Want to talk about it?”

The answer is a resounding yes, only one thing (well, person) more comforting than a complaining session with Sam, but Wanda knows this isn’t something to bring others into until her and Vision have figured it out. “Not right now.”

“Okay,” Sam lifts his hands, signaling the matter being dropped until further notice. “Can I help you with anything else?”

With a shake of her head Wanda continues moving, hands reaching out to trail along the metal of the walls, allowing the chill to chase away the thoughts that threaten her sanity. Slowly she works her way through the rest of the compound, combing every corner and hidden corridor in an attempt to locate Vision. Stopping every so often to force herself to eat, relax for a second and then continue.

Once evening falls, she descends into the lab area. All Avengers, minus Vision and Tony, are kindly asked to stay away from the scientists during the day, incessant questions and brute force tendencies an unappealing combination for empirical activities. The hallway is dark, red light from the emergency exit signs illuminating her path enough to direct her away from the random chairs and dead equipment left for the custodial staff. Vision won’t be in just any lab, which is why she doesn’t even glance into the rooms until she reaches Helen’s workspace. Sons really do love their mothers, and the sliver of golden light shining from beneath the storage room door confirms her suspicions.

Wanda glances around, casually sending a spark of red into the lock on the lab door and enters, carefully closing it so that she doesn’t make a sound. For a split second she considers opening the storage room door and yelling surprise. Instead she utilizes Natasha’s lessens on reconnaissance, creeping through the lab, fingers sifting through the uncharacteristically messy pile of papers on the table. Wanda picks one up, tiny shockwaves creasing the paper while she glances at the results. The numbers are meaningless, always preferring to let Vision summarize the statistical conclusions, but she does recognize the test. She considered sixteen pregnancy tests redundant and annoying but, aweight slowly pulls on her chest until she has to sit down, if this paper is what she believes it to be, it means Vision has undergone the same biological and genetic tests for at least the thirtieth time, hopelessly convinced they somehow missed something. And he’s right, though she won’t say it to his face, this test is no different from the rest. His synthetic genome just different enough to render procreation impossible.  

Wanda moves towards the storage room door, fist lifted as she contemplates knocking but then she glances back at the pile of papers, eyes roaming to the hazardous materials bin brimming with used needles and she can’t bring herself to bother him. Guilt grips her body, torn between needing his approval, needing his comfort, needing him to reassure her that it will be okay but knowing if she pushes him now, at this very dangerous precipice it could have everlasting effects. Her hand drops back down to her side, fingers flexing, searching for a hand to hold her own. With one last look at the door she leaves the lab.

  


Another unsatisfying night of sleep passes, the bed still cold next to her and an emptiness pressing against her chest. A hint of orange in the air means he still hasn’t shaken the habit of bringing her tea, and she reaches out to grip it, confused when a laminated piece of paper hits her face. It takes a concerted effort to untie the paper from her mug, and Wanda takes a sip of tea while examining the carefully typed out list.

**_Total Caffeine Intake Allowed: 200mg_ **

 

**_Daily Sources of Caffeine_ **

 

 ** _Source_**                           ** _Mg_**

 _Earl Gray Tea_                 _24_

 _Dark Roast Coffee_         _95_

 _Small Mocha_                  _100_

 _Hot Chocolate_                _7_

 _Ghirardelli Square_ _14_

 _12 oz Soft Drink_            _71_

The list (impressively) continues for another 12 items, and with each item her brow creases further, confused why Vision left this for her. A romantic apology note is one thing, but a list of caffeine is something entirely new. “I thought it would be good to start tracking such things.”

“Shit, Vizh!” The pounding of her heart only intensifies when she checks on the red cloud holding the blob of spilled tea suspended over her lap.

He’s sitting in the armchair across from the bed, legs stretched out on the ottoman, crossed at the ankles, the book in his hand indicating that he has been there for much longer than she realized. The way guilt manifests on his face when he surprises her, pupils dilating and his fingers fidgeting while he avoids staring at her for extended periods of time, brings a sense of normalcy that has been missing the past two days. “My apologies, I did not intend to startle you.” Wanda watches as he pulls the bookmark from the back pages, repositioning it before closing the book in his hand, and she can’t help but smile just slightly at the title _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_. “I,” he lifts the book to show her, finger tapping the very pregnant stomach on the cover for emphasis, “have been beginning to examine the processes your body is undertaking. It is truly fascinating and awe-inspiring. Did you know, based on my calculations that your last ovulation was December 15,” which raises a bunch of questions that Wanda has to ignore to let him continue, “you are currently 5 weeks pregnant? Right now the embryo is the size of a sesame seed.”

“That small?”

Vision smiles at her, chipping away at the tension still between them. “Yes, it is remarkable, by the end of your pregnancy the baby will be the size of a giant watermelon.” Wanda finds herself at a loss for words, unable to determine what exactly this conversation means for them. “Wanda.” Placing the book down, Vision stands, shyly approaching her, a slight nod asking permission to sit next to her and all she can think to do is grab his hand and pull him down. His fingers lace through hers, thumb rubbing her skin as he speaks. “I wish to apologize for my reaction the other day. Dr. Cho and I have yet to reach a scientifically satisfying reason for the conception, but I realize now that it does not matter to me near as much as you do. I love you, Wanda Maximoff, and though I am unsure of my abilities to provide a good life fo--”

“Vision,” her free hand tilts his chin up, making eye contact as she enters his mind, derailing his self-deprecating explanation, “I love you too, and you know you can’t get rid of me.”

“Nor would I want to do such a thing.”

“Good,” Wanda leans forward, tenderly kissing him to convey her relief at having him back, deciding in that moment there isn’t more to be said, perhaps best to repress the statistical uncertainties and doubts, treating the process as normal in an attempt to protect the most precious aspect of their lives. “So Maximoff, what’s next?”

  
A brilliant smile and a finger lifted to let her know she needs to be patient precedes him phasing through the bed on his way to the chair, returning with a page long list of numbered steps. “I believe first is to find a doctor, which Dr. Cho has recommended some and then we can move on to identifying the best prenatal vitamins and diet for a healthy pregnancy.” The list continues for well over three minutes, yet Wanda neither cares nor notices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Vision will get some angst in later chapters, I'm not done with his response to this yet (unless you weren't worried about that, then disregard this!). 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!! Kudos and comments always appreciated!


	2. An Uncertainty of Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Vision find it difficult to figure out how to feel about the pregnancy, a matter that is not helped by the uncertainty of how it happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I forgot to put this in the first note. My intention with this story is to give you fluff and mild angst, but also to present their experience realistically (so far as magically conceived babies can be realistic). As such there will occasionally be some medical procedures and talk in the story. If you don't like that or find it uncomfortable, I'm sorry, I'll limit to only the necessary stuff.
> 
> Also, thanks to snowstorms in the northeast you are getting this chapter way sooner than planned because I am currently on my third snow day!
> 
> As always, hope you enjoy!!!

“Are you happy?”

Vision’s hand stops moving, fingertips hovering over her shoulder. It is an odd question given the current circumstances, the room dark save for a trickle of moonlight through the crack in the curtains, the lack of visual stimuli emphasizing the sticky heat trapped in pockets on his skin where Wanda’s body is draped over his own. “Do you believe I am not?”

Friction builds between their chests as she shrugs, “You just seem off.”

“Oh,” silence settles as his mind ticks away at the various ways to process the comment. “Was this not satisfactory?”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” she shifts, hands gripping his sides as she pushes up, the air frigid against his now uncovered skin, “I didn’t mean that, no, no you were” her accent thickens to emphasize the next two words “perfectly satisfactory.” Vision adjusts his ocular sensors to enhance his night vision enough to gauge the emotions on her face, identifying concern as the most dominant, with fear a close second. “I just, I don’t know, everything feels different now.”

Which is actually something he agrees with, having noted a subtle deviation in their typical patterns of coexistence. Though he’d argue it is not simply him, Wanda’s smiles have not been as freely given, laughter a touch muted as compared to before the news. “It does.” The frown he detects on her face coaxes his body to act, arms wrapping around her waist to pull her back to his chest, lips parting her hair for a quick kiss. “But that does not mean I am unhappy. Wanda, there exists no possibility for unhappiness so long as you are within my life.”

“You’re so full of shit,” the eye roll is always easy to decode with the drawn out  _ so _ and a vibration of disbelief causing  _ shit _ to waver in the air, “but I love it.” 

Vision tightens his grip on her body, relishing the comfort and intimacy of the cool quiet of night in her embrace. “Are you,” the dark consumes his voice for a moment, uncertain at wanting to know the answer, “happy?”

“Of course I am, but,” she hesitates and an odd feeling of vertigo grips his chest, instinctual understanding that the use of the word  _ but _ rarely ends well in such situations. “I’m terrified...or excited, I can’t,” Wanda sighs into his chest, finishing her thought into his skin perhaps in hopes he does not hear it, “decide and I feel like that’s wrong.”

Despite past difficulties in comprehension of emotions, Vision has devoted himself to decoding the differences in affective states, setting clear, easily decipherable divisions between emotions in an attempt to better communicate with his team and to improve cohesiveness with Wanda, for which most of the time he succeeds. Yet he is still amazed to learn of emotional conflicts in Wanda, believing her the resident expert in emotional experience, this time in particular because he has been grappling with the same conflict. “Have I ever explained the Schacter-Singer Theory of Emotion?” 

“No.”

Vision runs his fingers through her hair as he starts his explanation. “There are multiple theories of emotion, but according to the Schacter-Singer Theory the first response to an emotional stimuli is physiological arousal. For instance, heart palpitations, slight tremors in the limbs, and perspiration could be indicative of excitement or fear. Once we experience the physiological response, we must cognitively determine, based on situational factors, the exact emotion to assign.  If there is an angry grizzly bear in front of you, clearly it would be fear. But on our wedding day, I at least -”

Her lips brush against his skin as she smiles, “Was a nervous wreck, don’t try and play cool now.”

“I was going to say experienced many of the same physiological responses as fear, but logically was not afraid, thus I determined it was excitement.” 

Wanda shifts again, hands pushing against his chest as she scoots further up his body, faces even as her nose brushes the tip of his own. “But what if I can’t differentiate?”

“Perhaps it is both. I have yet to determine the appropriate emotion either.”

“Thanks, that’s comforting,” an unhurried kiss erases the confusion from his mind, a blank canvas enveloping his thoughts as she pushes her body into his, each point of contact sending a frenzied relay of electric impulses into his brain, urging his hands to run down her spine. “I think,” Wanda remains against him as she speaks, lips parting his own to allow the words to reverberate in his chest, “I know what I’m feeling now.” And Vision finds himself in complete agreement. 

  
  
  


By four in the morning,  Vision finds himself struggling to concentrate on the book in front of him. The primary issue with not sleeping isn’t so much the lack of company, though that is occasionally a downside, no, the issue with spending roughly eight hours in solitude each night means that there is nothing to stop thoughts from careening out of control.  Next to him Wanda sleeps, a gentle smile on her face that breaks every so often to allow a snore or a mumbled phrase. Her arm is slung over his waist, leg snug between his thighs, and her hair sprawls across his chest, which means he cannot conceivably head to the gym without waking her. Because when reading fails, when television fails (every single couple on House Hunters that night had children), when running his hand through her hair fails, Vision finds the only way to stop thinking is destroying a few (i.e. at least twenty) dummies.  All of this conspires to fuel his thoughts, the pure elation of earlier regressing down to neutrality and, if he can’t find some distraction soon, he knows it will wander into a dangerously logical area that he may not escape. 

Ten more minutes of reading the same paragraph about human chorionic gonadotropin levels and Vision tosses the book onto the floor, his mind clicking ever so easily into prohibited territory. Though he tries not to dwell on certain unsavory implications, there still exists a miniscule seed of doubt in his mind, the knowledge of his sterility -- thirteen lab tests, fifteen blood tests, five physical exams, and two extraordinarily awkward days in Dr. Cho’s lab that involved a cup and thoughts of Wanda on the beach -- cannot be pushed to the side. There is no scientific doubt that he cannot have children. Yet, an antithesis to this scientific finding is that his wife (he still cannot withhold the small smile at the word) is pregnant. Which places Vision at a treacherous crossroads. Down one side of the fork is ignorant, blissful acceptance. They have talked about having children for months, examined each possibility from donors, to in vitro, to the cradle, and adoption or foster care. Why not simply embrace the high of impending parenthood? But, down the other fork, one with roiling dark clouds over an unpaved and ugly road, is the part of him that can’t help but question the veracity of information.  Based on basal body temperature and behavioral changes, he is able to pinpoint the most likely week for Wanda to have conceived, putting it at around the time they were fighting a floating brain that shot death rays from its prefrontal cortex. They were together on that mission, along with Steve, Sam, and Natasha (Rhodes called away on military matters). Natasha he can quickly rule out, for obvious reasons.  

“Vizh, calm down…” he glances down, noting her tightly scrunched eyes and the frown deepening on her lips, sweat gleaming from her forehead. A wave of guilt eradicates his thoughts, having forgotten that she is linked to his mind and he lifts a hand to his mouth, ashamed at the pattern of his thoughts. “Thanks.” Vision breathes out, terror tightening around his shoulders at just how easily he allowed the thoughts to surface and he determines once and for all to cast them far away. He vowed to remain at Wanda’s side, determined that so long as she is with him than the rest does not matter, which is not a falsehood.  Calm settles around his shoulders, fingers playing with the tips of her hair as he channels the undying love that beats within his chest into her mind, pleased at the sigh of pleasure that falls from her lips. 

Wanda is pregnant and he is both terrified and excited. A blood test the week before confirmed what the numerous tests already displayed. A frown tugs at his lips, eyes glancing to the book on the floor and he finds he wishes he could utilize Wanda’s telekinesis to bring it back. Vision closes his eyes, connecting seamlessly to the internet in search of the table he had examined earlier in the night. The blood test came back with hCG levels at 70,000, which Dr. Cho said were indicative of a healthy pregnancy, at least without an ultrasound to confirm. Yet he examines several charts, cognizant of the warnings of comparing numbers as there are individual differences that introduce error into the tests, but, based on his calculations Wanda should be closer to 50,000 at the highest levels. A dark cloud strays from where it is locked away and Vision finds his mind automatically searching for other causes of such elevated levels. Perhaps an alternative explanation exists to alleviate the confusion of this impossible conception. Several community message boards (names that he tucks away for further exploration) offer comforting anecdotes that convey a sense of acceptance that things cannot be explained. Not pleased with such unscientific accounts, Vision continues his exploration, reading medical journals of other disorders which could present false positives in both over-the-counter tests and blood tests. Unfortunately these answers only increase his worry, rare types of ovarian cancer a likely culprit. 

Vision’s fingers stop moving as he glances down at Wanda, suddenly realizing that he would take all of the uncertainty of conception over the possibility of losing her so soon. He can feel the salient terror of mortality pushing him over the edge of sanity, and he determines it is best to find distraction, even if it means disrupting her sleep, even if it means disrupting everyone’s sleep, and so he carefully phases down through the bed, his descent slow enough that Wanda settles easily onto the mattress. 

He solidifies three floors directly below their room, hand typing in a complicated fifteen character code, mixing capitalization with lowercase, numbers and special characters, until Friday’s amiable “Welcome Vision” lights up the room. “Please select your program and difficulty.” A moment’s contemplation reaffirms the emergence of the unwanted thoughts and so he selects course five, level Death Wish. As a whirring of blades echoes around the room, Vision looks down, realizing he is still naked and shrugs, molecules manipulating into his suit and cape. He sets his lips into a scowl as he turns towards the room. 

It takes roughly an hour of phasing, density manipulation, complicated flight patterns, and ample use of the beam provided from the Mindstone until every last dummy and robot is singed, twisted into grotesque statues, mouths hanging open in silent screams. Vision’s breath is labored, chest heaving as he takes in the scene, mind focused and fortitude restored to keep out unwanted thoughts.

“Um, Vision?”

Vision turns, eyes widening as he takes in the casual lean of Natasha’s body against the doorframe. “Agent Romanov.” A raised eyebrow forces his mind to shift. “Natasha.”

“That’s better.” A calculated smirk spreads across her face as she uncrosses her arms and approaches him. “You know Tony just created that level, we were going to do it today in training. He’s going to be so pissed you destroyed it already.” Embarrassment flares in his cheeks as he watches her walk through the course, foot nudging various dummies, examining his work. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I am unsure what you mean.” 

Pursed lips and another raised eyebrow drives the knife of disbelief through his statement, deflating his lie before he can continue. “Sure, because you and Wanda haven’t been acting all weird lately.” A shake of her head sends her red curls swaying. “Not that I miss watching you two make out everywhere, but it’s putting everyone on edge, so whatever is going on, solve it and get your heads back in the game.”  

“Of course.”

“Impressive work here, by the way,” a genuine smile graces her lips and Vision feels his own lips responding, unused to such compliments. “Now help me clean this up so we can use it later.”

  
  
  


That afternoon while listening to the cascade of water from the shower, Vision determines to speak with Wanda bluntly about his thoughts, outlining each concern, peppered, of course, with reaffirmations of his love and devotion to her and their child. Her own confession of conflicted emotions aids him in steeling his nerves. When she walks out of the bathroom, hair wet and dripping down her arms, water amplifying the scrapes and bruises from their training, he sits up straighter, running through his list one more time. “Vision.” A petrified quality exists in the syllables of his name and the tears running down her face confirm something is wrong. Without hesitation he rises from the bed and glides to her, hands gently cupped around her arms.

“Wanda, what’s wrong?”

The tears increase in both speed and volume, fat droplets splashing against the vibranium on his wrists. “Do you,” her voice breaks with a hiccup and Vision tightens his grip, “think I’m supposed to be bleeding?”

“Well, we did just complete a very difficult training, so I am certain that your cuts might still be fresh.” Though the tears continue, Vision is well aware that the look on her face, mouth set in a slight frown and eyes brimming with annoyance, means he needs to take context clues into consideration before speaking further. Of course she would not be concerned about cuts bleeding, as it is a guarantee for her to always be minimally hurt from such trainings. Vision seeks out other contexts, mind blanking until he feels her hand grab his own, pulling it to touch her stomach. Oh. A quick, desperate internet search provides some information to aid him in responding. “I believe we should call the obstetrician.”

Wanda nods, breath shaking as she walks into the closet to get dressed, returning moments later in a simple black dress and sweatshirt. They sit on the bed, her phone pressed to her ear as they wait for someone to pick up on the other end. Vision can feel himself dissociating from the conversation, comprehending every other word that Wanda speaks into the phone as his thoughts spiral, uncertain, despite his misgivings of late, if he is prepared for the potential of losing this impossible chance they have at a family. “Vizh?” His thoughts scatter as he brings his focus back to his wife, thumb absentmindedly lifting to brush away the fresh tears. “They said to come in now, just to be safe.”

  
  


The waiting room is silent, the obstetrician recommended to them by Dr. Cho specializing in high-risk and high-profile pregnancies, and thus they are given their own private room to stew. Wanda’s fingers are intertwined with his own, her ring askew enough to poke into his hand but he welcomes the slight tinge of pain, using it to center the nervousness shared between them. They spoke briefly on the way over, emotions volatile and too raw for deep conversation and so they now remain silent, eyes checking the time as the minutes tick by slowly. A door to their left opens and Vision finds himself sitting up, fingers tightening against Wanda’s hand. “Wanda Maximoff?”

She bolts to her feet, hand not leaving his own and thus pulling him along with her. They follow the blonde-haired nurse down the hall, to a room labeled  _ Ultrasound Lab _ .  “Alright, so Wanda, I’m going to have you go into the bathroom and get undressed. There’s a robe in there for you. Once you are ready come on out and you’ll lay on this table.” Wanda nods, making eye contact with him before tugging her hand from his grasp and disappearing into the bathroom. “Dad,” confusion settles into the crevices of his brain, until he realizes she is talking to him, “you can sit down.” Vision does as instructed, forcing himself to lean back against the cushioned chair, eyes following as the technician clicks on the machine, grabbing a long wand from a table and preparing it with a gel. 

“What is that?” The words are out of his mouth before he realizes that this may not be a situation where he can freely ask such questions.

“Oh, this is a transvaginal ultrasound, she’s not far enough yet for us to pick up anything with the abdominal ultrasound.” Another question boils up from a chapter he had just finished reading but is cut short when Wanda comes out, cloth robe moving in the breeze as she awkwardly climbs onto the table. What he perceives as a loud scratching noise fills the room as he scoots his chair forward, hand finding hers, glad he can change his density as she utilizes her death grip. “Okay, so Wanda, I am going to have you put your feet up in these stirrups,” the technician gently guides Wanda’s feet into the footholds wrapped in towels. “I just want you to relax, focus on holding dad’s hand, okay?” Wanda nods, and Vision can feel their minds linking, the spike of nervousness tangoing with his own uncertainty. “Good job, now you’ll feel my hand along your thigh and then I’ll tap twice before the wand goes in, sound good?”

Another nod and a quiet “yes” indicates everything is understood. It only takes two seconds and the screen in front of them erupts in grainy white and gray pulsating images. Twists and turns cause the image to revolve, the technician focusing solely on the screen, toggling the view left and right, zooming in and zooming out until an ovoid space of black emerges amidst the gray striations. 

A friendly smile and relieved exhale comes from the technician. “There it is.” A push of a button freezes the image briefly, allowing her to point at the black space. “I can’t technically diagnose anything, mind you, that’s for Dr. Wadan to determine, but,” the image moves again, and clicks echo around the room as she drags lines from one end of the black oval to the other, “I’ve been doing this for many years and that right there, that is one healthy looking embryo.” Wonderment spreads in his mind, all concerns fading into the background at the image before them. Vision tilts his head to the side, eyes adjusting and zooming in for a better view of the screen, and he thinks he can make out a shape within the void. “It looks like you’re roughly 7 weeks 4 days along. We call this the gummy bear phase, by the way.”

“I see it.” Wanda’s face bursts into a smile and it is the most beautiful one he has ever experienced. “The little nubs are arms and legs, right?”

“Yeah.” The technician clicks and toggles more, holding up her finger to them before she pushes a button. A rapid, faint rhythm comes from the screen and Vision instantly recognizes the beat of a heart, mind melting into amazement the longer they listen to it. “That’s a good heartbeat.” The image moves and they can no longer see the embryo, and Vision finds he desperately wants her to go back to it, a longing opening up deep within his body to never look away from the miracle on the screen. “Don’t worry, dad.” Vision glances up at the smirk on the technician’s face, “I’m just looking around to make sure the rest of the uterus is okay, we’ll go back to your little  gummy bear soon.”  The death grip on his hand loosens, replaced by a reassuring squeeze and a joyful curve to Wanda’s lips as she mouths  _ dad _ to him. “Huh.”

Vision turns his attention back to the screen, eyes bouncing between the black oval and technician, unsure why she sounds confused. “Is something the matter?”

“No, no, congratulations you two,” the image zooms out as she rotates the view to show two adjacent ovals, “you’re having twins.”  A brilliant, scarlet burst of joy explodes from Wanda’s mind, overtaking his to the point that he is unsure if any thoughts currently in his mind belong exclusively to him.  

  
  
  


The technician leads them down the hallway to an exam room, handing over a small stack of printouts from the ultrasound, Wanda grabbing two and leaving Vision with two as they take in the images of their children. Plural. “I can’t believe this, Vizh.”

“Neither can I.” 

The smile currently on her face has not left it since they found out, her cheeks beginning to cramp from the exertion of the muscles in her face, yet Vision can sense from the scattered, jubilant thoughts that it is of little concern to her if her face hurts. “Twins…”  

A knock on the door lets them know the doctor is ready for them, entering after a couple of seconds to allow them to get ready. She is shorter than Vision thought, for some reason, dark brown hair pulled back into a loose bun and dark skin contrasting against her white blouse. “Hello, I’m Dr. Wadan. You must be mom,” she walks over to Wanda, shaking her hand with a pleasant smile on her face. 

“Hi, I’m Wanda.”

“Excellent,” she turns towards him, hand outstretched, “You must be dad.”

He hesitantly takes her hand, unused to non-Avengers wishing to touch him in any way. “Vision.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you both. Helen talks non-stop about you, always bragging about her genius son,” a wink is sent his way and Vision finds himself confused by his reaction, wary of such friendliness but also elated at being treated normally by two people so far today who are not associated with the Avengers. “She called me the instant she knew you were expecting. First grandchildren are so exciting.”  Dr. Cho had mentioned to them that she was friends with this doctor, having gone to medical school together and staying in touch despite entering different disciplines. “So, how are you two doing?”

Wanda slides her eyes towards him, conveying with one quick glance that she isn’t certain who is supposed to answer, and he mentally sends back his own unease, not practiced in dealing with doctors outside of Dr. Cho. Luckily Wanda responds, Vision unsure what is required for an answer. “Good, a bit overwhelmed, but things are going well so far. I bled a bit today, which is why we’re here now instead of for our appointment in two weeks.”

Casually Dr. Wadan sits on a rolling stool, fingers typing on a laptop as Wanda talks. “Yeah, you know sometimes that can happen. Various factors can lead to it, rigorous physical activity, sex, bowel movements, even just walking around. Blood flow to your cervix is greatly increased right now, you may notice some spotting throughout the first trimester and even beyond that. Always feel free to call us, I want you to be confident and comfortable throughout this process, because trust me, I get that it’s terrifying.” There is a soothing quality to her bedside manner, the lilt of her voice lulling Vision into an incredible sense of calm, feeling a bit ridiculous that they freaked out because it wasn’t, in retrospect, a big deal. “Now, the ultrasound looked wonderful, healthy development for both babies, faint, but strong heartbeats. This is really the earliest we can even detect that, so I’m glad we were able to pick it up today. As of now I really feel like you’re good, no concerns on my end. Do you all have any questions?”

“I assume physical activity is okay for me?” Vision watches as Wanda toys with the rings on her fingers. They hadn’t talked about restricting her activity, though Vision considered asking her to sit out of the training that morning. 

An understanding nod follows the question. “Exercise is actually encouraged, the more fit you are going into labor can actually make it a bit easier. Now you are certainly a unique case, given your jobs.” Dr. Wadan bites her bottom lip, the process of carefully choosing her words evident in the bend of her neck as her eyes dilate. “Typically I say whatever you were doing before, keep doing it but make sure it is in moderation. I think you can keep, you know, Avenging, but I’d urge you to maintain a more long-distance, tactical view of it. We can bring you in for regular stress tests just to make sure everything is good and to be safe. Anything else?” Vision finds himself pulling up his ongoing list of questions but hesitates, still unsure of his role in the room and if Wanda is supposed to be the one to ask questions. So for now he lets it go, shaking his head along with Wanda. “Great, we’ll go ahead and have you come back for your already scheduled appointment. If anything comes up before then, please please please don’t hesitate to call, we have nurses on the line 24-hours and there is always a doctor on call. Also, before you leave, the receptionist will have a comprehensive list of diet and medications that are okay and not okay while pregnant. Exciting times you two!” 

She stands, shaking their hands one more time before leading them back to the private waiting room. 

  
  


Later that night, Wanda pressed against his body and his hand tangled in her hair, massaging her scalp as they watch a movie, Vision leans down to kiss her forehead. “Wanda?”

“Hmm?” 

Her eyes remain closed yet he can feel her mind open up to him.  “I am happier than I have ever been.” 

“Me too, still terrified though.” 

Vision smirks. “Oh yes, undoubtedly.” And they spend the rest of the evening in companionable silence, all traces of worry and dark clouds stifled whenever he glances at  the ultrasound printouts on the nightstand. 


	3. What is Normal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda wonders what it would be like to have a normal life, but finds that perhaps it's not what she wants, especially when it means morning sickness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than usual, I have attempted to make up for that by making it longer! Life has been unbelievably stressful and hectic, and I'm hoping that didn't seep into the story. 
> 
> Also, I am having a hard time writing Wanda, so if you ever feel like she is a bit off, I'm open to knowing. The struggle is that, from personal experience, pregnancy leads to changes in some aspects of emotion and personality. Like, for instance going from an emotionally stable, easy going person to a 24/7 crying rage monster of doom. So...I'm trying to introduce that but don't want it to go too far as to be caricature.
> 
> Anyway, Hope you enjoy!!!

Wanda sighs, hands behind her head as she stares at the ceiling. Had she been aware of the specifics of what she agreed to, namely how much time it would take, she probably would have asked to wait until after breakfast, stomach threatening in very clearly articulated growls to devour itself any minute now. Another three minutes tick by before she sighs again, a bit louder, eyes moving to gauge his response. But he seems to be oblivious, lips tight in concentration, a slight downturn to the edges that could almost be described as a scowl, his eyelids are half closed as if the harder he squints the better he’ll be able to concentrate. “You’re making a mess down there, Maximoff.” Which startles him enough that he glances at her, mouth clearly torn between smiling, frowning, or a sassy retort.

Instead he nods, mouth settling into a frown, “I may need to be more judicious with the lubricant.”

“How much longer do you think this will take?”

Vision shrugs, an uncharacteristic sense of defeat in his movements. “I do not know.”

The deepening lines of distress and disappointment around his mouth means breakfast is going to have to wait longer as Wanda doesn’t want to discourage the newfound, highly appreciated excitement that has overtaken their lives. Just this morning, far earlier than her alarm was set for, Vision phased up through the bed, wide smile plastered to his face with a box in hand, informing Wanda that Dr. Cho pulled some strings to get it in earlier than planned. “You know, I think she was a bit lower when she found it.”

Carefully he pulls down the band of her underwear and brings the heartbeat doppler lower, the gel cold against her skin with each pass of his hand. “I believed this would be easier.”

Wanda smirks, laying her head back on the pillow and staring at the ceiling once more. “That’s what you get for questioning Dr. Wadan’s ability.”

“For a medical professional I would still expect her to be able to locate their heartbeats faster.”

“Vizh, she only took three minutes, you’re on what, like fifteen now?” The smile on her face grows broader, sensing the brief glare coming from her feet and barely hearing the mumbled _twelve_ correcting her estimate. “You know what’s bothering me?”

“Other than your lack of breakfast?”

“Yes, other than that,” a flick of her wrist lifts a pillow from the bed and throws it at his face. “I don’t feel pregnant, you know?”

The movement of the doppler stops, “Why do you say that?”

Wanda curls her chin down so she can watch the way his eyes rotate in contemplation. “Well, nothing physically has changed,” he raises his free hand to correct her, about to point out that he can notice a difference in the circumference of her stomach but she keeps going, not wanting to have that conversation again. “I don’t feel emotional, no morning sickness, I just,” the next words feel ridiculous in her mind and she considers not uttering them, but, if there is any person that will not judge her, it is the one currently holding a wand covered in hospital grade lubricant to her pelvis. “What if this all isn’t real?”

The doppler moves again, changing from a random search to an orderly s-shaped pattern. “Does this have anything to do with your dream last week?”

The answer is yes, yet Wanda was unaware he knew about it, purposely brushing away any recollections of it from her own mind because she found it so alarming. “It might.”

Vision remains quiet for several seconds before he places the doppler on a towel next to her and walks through the bed, solidifying his body once he is at her side. A comforting arm is wrapped around her as he pulls their bodies into contact, faces even with the Mindstone pressed against her forehead. “Though I have, admittedly, wavered about the scientific probability of this pregnancy, there is convincing evidence that despite all impossibilities, you are pregnant, with twins.”

The dream flashes back to her, a sickening feeling deep within her growing at the images of her children disappearing each time she turns her back. She denied it in the dream, refused to acknowledge they were not real, and it led to a series of disjointed images of Vision destroyed and her babies being taken by a man with long hair and a thin mustache.  “But we don’t know how it happened, what if they aren’t real, what if I stop thinking about them and they disappear?”

“Wanda,” she opens her eyes to look into the swirling blue irises, relaxing just a bit as she counts each rotation. “Please do not take this as offensive, but that is simply preposterous.” **

“You’re preposterous,” Is for some reason the only response she can come up with, which leads to a disbelieving, yet affection smile from Vision. “Vizh, our lives are weird.”

He smiles again, kissing her briefly before pushing her shoulder so that she returns to lying on her back. “We do lead interesting lives. Would you like to test your hypothesis?” Confusion weaves into her thoughts as she watches him phase through the bed and return to his original position, hands picking up the doppler, placing it back on her skin. Several minutes pass, her eyes caught up in the pattern of his movements, and then fluttering _lub-dubs_ come from the monitor.

“Is that mine again?”

Vision shakes his head, a softness in the rise of his lips as he presses the doppler into her skin to focus in on the heartbeat. “If you can, stop thinking about the babies.” Which seems to be an impossible task, human beings (as Vision has kindly, and annoyingly pointed out many times in their relationship) have a tendency to focus more strongly on information when told to forget about it. But Wanda attempts it, understanding now what he is trying to prove, so her mind moves to other topics, fingers lifting to block her ears from hearing the heartbeat, and she thinks back to happy memories. Days spent with Pietro before Hydra, evenings under the stars with Vision, the smell of lavender and thyme that was always present on her mom’s hands. A gentle “Wanda.” in her head pulls her from her thoughts. Once her fingers leave her ears, Vision continues,  “Nothing changed.” The relief that washes over her must be palpable, spreading from her mind into Vision’s, the muscles controlling his lips loosening as he grins at her. “Are you content?”

“That was only one, you have to find the other.”

With a nod and a barely noticeable sigh of exasperation, he moves the wand again, just a touch to the side, remembering how close together they were at the doctor’s office. “You know,” the tiny circles on her skin develop a hesitation that matches his voice, “we should probably tell the others soon.”

This is a topic that he has brought up multiple times in the past week, having developed a finely tuned skittishness in response to anyone mentioning anything to do with Wanda acting or looking different, even when none of their comments relate at all to pregnancy or kids. “We do, but I thought we agreed to wait until the next ultrasound, it’s only a week and a half away.”

The tone of his words confirms he still isn’t on board with the decision, but isn't ready for the fight right now, “We did.” His hand stops and a hurried yet rhythmic beat reaches her ears, smile matching his own. Without warning her stomach growls again and Vision smirks. “If you desire, I can prepare breakfast while you clean up.”

“Yes, please.” After carefully cleaning the doppler, Vision phases through the floor, leaving Wanda to wipe the viscid gel from her torso. A glance to the side reveals her reflection in the mirror and Wanda keeps her shirt lifted body turning to the right and then to the left, fingers brushing along her stomach. Though Vision insists he can notice a difference, Wanda doesn’t. With a sigh she drops the shirt, messing with the hem to straighten it out before moving her hands to fix her hair enough to remove the last signs of bed head.  A part of her wishes she had more signs, not only does she fail to see any difference but she also hasn’t had any cravings and beyond some dehydration induced nausea the other week during training, has not had morning sickness.

It makes her feel guilty, for some reason, like she’s missing out on some quintessential aspect of the shared experience of women around the world. Perhaps guilt isn’t the right word, the more Wanda thinks about it, but it is the only one that conceptually comes close to matching the itch of despair and sense of vertigo whenever she forgets she’s pregnant (which happens rarely and only for a few minutes, like when she’s tempted by sushi or distracted in training). Adding to this amorphous cloud of something related to guilt is the fact that she occasionally, only when Vision is not in her head, wonders what it would be like to have a normal pregnancy. And now that she brings in the word that Vision is forbidden from ever using to describe himself in a negative manner, the guilt intensifies. Normal has never described her life, not when she was a child trapped under a bed watching a bomb, not as a teenager roaming the streets, definitely not after gaining her powers and working with a homicidal robot and then joining the Avengers. Normal will never be used to describe her friends nor her marriage and there is no way to assign the label to her current situation.

Her phone vibrates on the nightstand, drawing her eyes to the time, 7:35am, and then her gaze continues until it reaches the entirely unnecessary and slightly geriatric weekly medicine sorter Vision bought her the other day at the store. Apparently being pregnant means taking daily vitamins, and when she kept forgetting to take said vitamins, well, now she has a timer and a pillbox. Wanda walks over, a red tendril popping open the Thursday compartment and lifting three pills. She grabs the glass of water from the nightstand and leaves the room, swallowing the pills as she wanders through the compound.

The sound of sizzling pans and smooth jazz brings a smile to her face as she approaches the kitchen.  Vision has been upping his breakfast game now that he is more concerned than ever with her eating enough. The rest of the team has noticed, Sam asking what’s up with the gourmet breakfasts of late, but Wanda simply shrugs, not yet ready for added scrutiny of their situation. On her way around the counter, Wanda nods to Natasha, a silent good morning that is met with a slight raise of a coffee mug. Then she sets her attention on the sweater-clad back in front of her. Even though she saw him less than fifteen minutes ago, that doesn’t mean she’s going to change their routine. “Morning, Maximoff.” A hand pressed between his shoulder blades alerts him to her presence, and the second he turns around she pulls his face down for their traditional morning kiss.

“Get a room,” Natasha winks at them, an odd look of relief on her face that causes Wanda to roll her eyes as she takes a seat at the counter. “I was just telling Vision that Steve and I are well aware what you two are doing.”

Worry pulses through her body as she slides her eyes towards Vision, a small sense of calm pushing back as he glances over his shoulder with a slight shake of his head. “What are we doing?”

“You think we haven't noticed how you two always end up paired together?” The red head stares at Wanda, hands cupped tightly around the coffee mug.  “Steve and I don’t mind you working together sometimes, but for the past three weeks or so somehow you always end up together, even when you aren’t supposed to be. So today, you can't work together.” A pause is skillfully placed, emphasizing the final words, “at all.” Wanda does her best not to let any panic show, eyes briefly wandering again to take in the subtle tenseness of Vision’s shoulders. Training together had been his plan, her agreement predicated on the frenzied anxiety bouncing around his mind every time Natasha went for a kick to her stomach, or Rhodes came flying in too fast, or the edge of Steve’s shield got a little too close for comfort.

“Of course, he’s just the most challenging for me.”

The unblinking stare of the spy always makes her want to leave the room, but Wanda attempts to act calm, nonchalantly stirring the tea in front of her. “You’re a horrible liar, Maximoff.”

Luckily Vision rescues her, turning from the stove with two full plates of food in his hand, placing them on the counter. “Our apologies, Natasha. Based upon the most recent performance evaluations, you and Captain Rogers indicated to Wanda that stabilizing her powers be the primary focus of training. It is not fallacy to insinuate that my own powers challenge her the most.”

The unrelenting stare moves to Vision. “Apparently all Maximoffs are horrible liars.”

Wanda opens her mouth to respond when the whiff of eggs and strawberry jam mingle with the orange of her tea, creating a sudden, churning in her stomach. The conversation to her left fades to the background as she centers her mind, eyes closing in an attempt to determine what’s wrong, but with her vision cut off the smells only intensify, a feeling of utter repulsion building a layer of saliva in the back of her throat. Wanda swallows, teeth scraping against her tongue, fighting back the rising burn of bile. “Wanda?”  Vision’s hand is on her shoulder, concern flowing into her mind, the smooth golden waves matching the rhythm of his hand rubbing up and down her arm. “Are you okay?”

“I-” Wanda pushes back from the counter, fingers locked into the creases of fabric on Vision’s arm, and stands, body unsteady as her stomach turns. It is to someone's credit that a stock pot magically appears in front of her just in time for her to puke.  Fingers brush her forehead, pulling her hair out of the way, the room silent as they all wait to see what happens next. “I think,” she lifts her head, body leaning into Vision’s for support, “I’m good.” Until the stench from the stock pot in her grasp reaches her nose, and it starts over again.

“Wanda,” Natasha says her name, tone a mixture of annoyance, concern, and a bit of wonder, “I’ll give you points for dedication. Just take the day off.” A weightlessness overtakes her limbs while she gives a thankful nod, eyes closing as her body readjusts to the lack of solid ground, but the pressure of an arm under her knees and one behind her neck and the slightly metallic smell of vibranium let’s her know she’s safe as they begin to move through the kitchen. “Vision,” the world stops moving as he halts, likely peeking over his shoulder at Natasha, “just because she’s sick doesn't mean you get out of training. See you in thirty minutes.”

  
  
  


By the time Vision returns from training, she has not moved beyond switching which arm hugs the toilet.  Out of the corner of her eye she watches as he phases through the wall, carefully setting a water bottle and pouch on the edge of the bathtub before turning towards her. “May I?” Vision waves a hand at the floor next to her and even though her stomach continues to wage a vicious war, she can't help from smiling at him.

“How was training?” She watches in amusement as he lowers himself to the ground, long limbs and a distaste for sitting on the floor causing an awkwardness to surround his movements. But once down, his arm wraps around her shoulders with ease, a comforting surety and naturalness in the way he pulls her against his body.  

A kiss placed to her temple muffles his brief, “Fine.” His free hand runs along her thigh in a soothing u-shaped pattern. “How are you feeling?”

Wanda shrugs, lolling her head back into him, grateful for something other than a toilet for comfort. “I might be dying.”

“You know my displeasure for that phrase.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” The annoyed smirk tugging at his lip brings another smile to her face.

“Have you been keeping hydrated?”

When she fails to respond, Wanda can feel his muscles constrict, body shifting to reach for the tray, but instead she grips onto him harder with a “Stay here” and a wave of her hand, grabbing the water bottle from the tray. Once it is close enough, she reaches across his body for the bottle, stopping in confusion as a smell assaults her senses. Wanda ignores the uptick of nausea, leaning her face into his chest to investigate further.  “You smell like burnt wires.”

Vision lifts his hand up, sniffing it. “I do not believe I smell any different.” He lifts the fabric of his thermal up at the neck, craning his head to sniff that as well. “Have I smelled like that before?”

If she had to assign a typical smell to him it would be reminiscent of the compound after spring cleaning, fresh yet sterile and with an underlying hint of alloy. “Not that I know of.”

“Oh,” he stares forward, eyes rotating as he likely catalogues this new information. “I have been reading that, though not scientifically well founded, many pregnant women report an enhanced sense of smell, typically most keen during bouts of nausea. It is hypothesized that this may actually contribute to the development and experience of morning sickness.”

Wanda considers his words, nodding along as she starts to notice other smells in the bathroom, eyes briefly closing in an attempt to block said smells. It is, all things considered, not a super power she ever desired and now, of course, that she has paid attention to the new smells, Wanda scrambles out of his embrace and crawls to the toilet, thankful for his quick reflexes pulling her hair out of the way.

Vision rubs a circle into the small of her back, serene thoughts of trees and sunshine bathing her mind, so well constructed she can feel the warmth on her arms. Once she’s done, he hands her water, the slant of his lips and stoic stare commanding that she actually drink something to replace everything she’s lost. “So,” slowly she settles back into the space under his arm, nodding her head in the direction of the tub, “what’s the pouch for?”

“Oh yes,” his fingers tap excitedly against her upper arm as his thoughts swirl into a pinpoint of focused explanation. “I have collected an assortment of potential remedies to alleviate the nausea, some more scientifically sound than others…”

Those are not words she often hears from him, “Alright, imposter, where’s my husband?”

The skin around the Mindstone crinkles with his confusion, “I am not sure I follow.”

“You’re going to suggest non-scientifically sound options?”

A burst of gold in his mind indicates he’s made the connection and it's one of her favorite feelings in the world, a literal lightbulb of comprehension wrapped up in a bashful smile that is indescribably sexy, leading her to grab his neck and pull him into a kiss. Their connection is shorter lived than she planned, lips traveling into a downward arc as he shifts away, a polite awkwardness in the stiffening of his body. “As part of the remedy, I have,” nervousness often manifests in his fingers first, his hand currently squeezing her arm in a rapid rhythm, “created several travel kits that are placed in convenient locations.” Wanda eyes him, wrist flicking so that the pouch moves to the floor in front of them. Without waiting for any further explanation she reaches for what she assumes is the kit, a palm sized cloth bag with a zipper. Inside is a travel-sized toothbrush, toothpaste, a container of mints, and a barf bag. “I read some accounts of women who did not enjoy what they deemed ‘pregnancy breath,’ so I…”

Wanda smirks, an involuntary eye roll the only response she has when he transitions into his fumbling mode that accompanies most instances of social interaction that he has no experience with yet. “Would like me to freshen my breath before the next kiss?”

Horror takes over his eyes, apparently unaware of the layered meaning of his gesture “That is not…”

“Hey, I get it, it’s not a problem.” She pops a mint into her mouth, regretting it instantly as her stomach turns over again and they spend a truly unromantic evening in the bathroom.

  


In the following days Wanda discovers his other not-so-scientific remedies for her morning sickness (a misnomer as she is sick at least once every hour of the day), ending up in a delicately handled game of cat and mouse as Vision helps her lie to and evade their teammates whenever she needs to puke.  With each bout of nausea he tries a new technique -- forcing her to sniff lemons (which only made it worse), adding rosemary to her tea (unpleasant), providing her with ginger candies (surprisingly tasty), sneaking additional vitamins into her pillbox (annoying), designating nap times (highly enjoyable), and giving her a seasickness band (this garnered unwanted attention and was promptly thrown away). The most effective, however, is distraction, an increased amount of their free time devoted to movies, games, books, and, much to Wanda’s approval, back and head massages.  

Their success at keeping everything secret lulls Wanda into a sense of security. They've spoken a lot about when to inform the team of their news, Vision favoring sooner while Wanda is content to wait until she can't hide it anymore, worried about telling them only to have tragedy occur or for the team to be upset. Although they had a couple of close calls at training this week, she’s confident that no one has caught on and it isn’t affecting anyone else.

Wanda’s enjoying a distracting head massage when their safety net is cut.

“Avengers,” the sounds of Steve’s calm and authoritative voice echoes in their room, “everyone needs to be suited up and in the hangar in ten minutes.”

Vision lays his book on the nightstand, sitting up a bit straighter before turning towards her. “Wanda...”

“Don’t you dare, I’m going.” Before he can fight her on it, Wanda is out of the bed and plucking her uniform from the closet. A flash of yellow to her side confirms that Vision is ready, envy curling in her mind at how easy he has it with clothes. Wanda strips down and begins pulling her pants up, confused when they stop halfway up her hips. Another yank and they still won’t budge, frustration bubbling up as she struggles with the fabric, red swirling in and out of the threads in an attempt to loosen the seams, but to no avail. “Ah!” a scarlet cloud engulfs the pants, ripping them off of her legs. “Why is my uniform leather?!”

Thankfully Vision understands the rhetorical nature of the question, smartly remaining silent though his eyes study her with growing interest. “Would you like me to select a pair of workout leggings for you?”

“Yeah, fine.” She waves dismissively at him, turning her focus to the corset, fingers moving in conjunction with her powers to lace it, which is significantly snugger than it was last time. Once Vision returns with the leggings, she pulls them up, accepting his aid in getting her jacket on, before facing the mirror.  Her reflection frowns back at her, lips scrunched in displeasure at the puckering gaps at the bottom of the corset and the oddity of the leggings with the rest of the outfit.

“Wanda.”

Wanda sighs, fingers running along the still unseen but clearly present bump of her stomach. “Yeah, I know, we have to go.”

When they arrive in the hangar, Sam ushering them onto the quinjet for the briefing, Wanda notices the up-and-down Natasha gives her, eyebrow rising once her gaze reaches the not-mission-approved leggings. “Okay team,” Steve’s voice centers all of their concentration to him, “We have a potential nuclear weapon that has fallen into the wrong hands. Sam and Rhodes,” the two men nod, standing to attention, “you’ll be aerial coverage, keep us updated on suspicious movement, radio chatter, personnel, and keep the news helicopters out of the way.”

An “Aye aye, Captain,” from Sam garners a disapproving glance from Steve, though he does smirk ever so slightly as well.

“Maximoff,” Wanda turns to Steve, noting that Vision also pays closer attention, “You’ll be back here,” he points to the map, indicating a bunker a good distance from the base, “but we need you to make everyone in the building not pay attention to us.”

Even absent any sound, Wanda would describe the subtle droop of her husband’s shoulders as a sigh of relief, Steve clearly having listened when Wanda asked to work on longer range tactics. “How many people are we talking?”

The hesitation in his answer is enough for Vision’s shoulders to tense back up, “A hundred, maybe a bit more or less. I’m thinking you’ll just freeze them like we’ve been practicing.” She nods, a tingle of nervousness gathers in the tips of her fingers at the thought of the amount of power this mission will take.  At most Wanda has successfully controlled thirty minds for an extended period of time, and that was fully fed, alert, and without her stomach waging an impressive campaign against her. “Vision.”

“Yes, Captain Rogers.”

“You’re the main star today. The weapon of concern is located inside a high security safe, intel states there are at least ten guards within the safe itself. I’ve upload the schematics so you can access them. Just need you to get in, grab the goods, and get out.”  Steve turns to address everyone, “Remember, we’re working on as little collateral damage and violence as possible.”

Once they’ve been briefed, everyone moves to their designated seats, Rhodes piloting the quinjet, Natasha co-piloting with her legs resting on the control panel. Steve sits across from Wanda, a patriotic statue with determined eyes, next to him Sam fiddles with Redwing.  Vision stays by her side, fingers intertwined with her own, edge of his finger brushing against the surface of her wedding ring. “Do you believe you’ll be okay?” The question is a whisper, hesitation in his words as he attempts to gauge her reaction before he’s done.

“I’ll be fine.”

Though he nods, accepting the answer, the almost imperceptible shake of his leg betrays his anxiety. “It is a monumental task, what if,”

“I’ll be fine, Vizh.”

“I have placed emergency provisions in case of,” a quick glance to each side confirms no one is eavesdropping, “an incident under each bench and in your bag. It is okay to stop if you feel overexerted. There are extra water bottles in the -”

“Vizh,” Wanda reaches out, cupping his cheek in her palm. “I’ll,” his lips come to a halt, concern flickering in the counterclockwise rotation of his irises, but the tension in his face softens as she rubs her thumb along his cheek, “be” with a gentle tug his forehead comes to rest against hers “fine.”

  
  


Forty minutes into the mission and Wanda is most certainly not fine, in fact fine describes a time so far in the past the very concept of the word is foreign to her. The sheer amount of power it takes for her to connect to all the minds within the base, placing a gentle suggestion of catatonia into ninety six minds and holding it for going on ten minutes now has led to the development of a migraine. Bursts of light flash just outside her peripheral, refusing to go away even when she closes her eyes. If they had planned this better, she would have started with the guards inside the safe, but the mission stated she work from the outside of the base in, a creeping sense of unease sending a numbness up the base of her skull. Though dropping one mind would help, Wanda refuses to sever her link to Vision, assessing his movements through the base, each cautiously planned step reverberating in her ears. “You got this.” Natasha is next to her, having already finished securing the perimeter. Usualy Wanda would insist on losing the back seat mind control, but today she feels like encouragement of any kind can’t hurt.

Vision’s words buzz in the comm units. “I have reached the safe.”

“Wanda.”

She grimaces, endeavoring to keep hold of the minds in the base, track Vision, and now respond to Steve. “I’m good, can we make this go a bit faster though?” A hairpin crack forms in the mind of one of the outer guards, the woman’s consciousness fighting back at the realization that something is amiss.

“I shall work as efficiently as possible.” There is a subtextual waver in his response, an anxious undertone shaking the last word from his mouth. Wanda squeezes her eyes shut, fingers bending and crossing, a spasm of her thumb shifting her place in Vision’s mind enough that she can use his eyes as well, pulling what they’ve deemed the Big Brother tactic of surveillance. She understands his concern now, taking in with stunning clarity and focus twelve guards, frozen, but frozen with guns aimed at the center of the room.

Meticulously his hands phase in and out of the main power box, fingers lifting and separating wires in a systematic manner, assessing the most opportune (and least likely to blow up) combinations to open the container without forcing it with his density manipulation. That’s about when it hits, as Vision inserts his hands for the final step before the container opens, a rush of queasiness, effortlessly rising from the pit of her stomach, racing up into her throat and gathering as spit under her tongue. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Natasha taps her shoulder. “Wanda?”  

“I,” two swallows, nothing changes, another swallow and Wanda thinks the saliva multiples instead of goes away, “Vision.”

“Guys,” Natasha takes over the comms, hand hovering above Wanda’s shoulders, “we need to wrap this up Wanda’s,” then all hell breaks loose, powers pulling back, ricocheting from mind to mind until all of it comes like an enthusiastic battering ram into her back, slamming  her forward and onto her knees where she allows the inevitable to happen, “sick.”

The last thing Wanda perceives is a spike of fear and twelve guns raising in unison before Vision shuts her out.

  


When Wanda opens her eyes next she finds herself gazing at the metal ductwork of the quinjet, uncertain when or how she got back to the ship. “Here,” a water bottle is pushed into her view and she slowly sits up, a pair of hands on her back aiding her efforts. “You okay?”

After a few sips she turns to Natasha. “What happened?”

“Why didn't you tell me it was too much to handle?”

Wanda runs back through her memories, attempting to figure out what happened after she threw up. “I,” the image of guns forces her body into action, standing up and knocking the blanket off her lap, “where's Vision?”

Hands grip her shoulder, easing her back on the bench and for only the third time since knowing her, Natasha smiles gently at her, hand brushing through her hair in concern. “He's fine, they're heading back to the ship now. Why didn't you say anything about being sick?”

“I didn't know that was going to happen,” which is true, she'd felt mostly fine today, just an underlying feeling of nausea, but nothing she couldn't handle. “I think I pushed too hard.”

Natasha’s lips tighten into a thin line, “You need to be more open with us on these things. If it was someone other than Vision in that safe.” She doesn't have to finish for Wanda to know the implication, and her stomach constricts, a sickening guilt encasing her body at the possibilities.

They don't speak again, Natasha manning the communications and security systems, so the next sound she hears is the door opening, voices muffled by the creak of metal but the minds are familiar. Wanda ignores the others, desperately wading through them until she discovers the serene ebb and flow of Vision’s thoughts. Once she locates him, noting only a marginal disturbance of agitation in his typical mood, she opens her eyes, waiting to confirm he's physically okay as well.

There is a stiffness to his movements as he walks up the ramp, and the fact that he is walking instead of gliding just above the ground should be a sign of concern. But the smile that dances on his lips and in his eyes upon seeing her is enough to confirm he'll be okay. Now that she's sure he can handle it, the water bottle falls out of her hand as she pushes her body up from the bench, leaping into his arms without hesitation, always sure he will catch her. Vision wraps his arms around her, body faltering minimally as he adjusts to their new position, lips capturing hers, hugging her tightly to his body, a shadow of desperation surrounding his movements.   “How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” Wanda laughs, tears streaming down her face, “Vision you got shot at! How are you?!”

Arms still wrapped around her, he shrugs, head coming to rest on top of hers. “I am unharmed, only eleven bullets were accurately aimed and my density had adjusted in time.”

“Only eleven, yeah not a big deal.”

Vision’s mouth slants, one side up in amusement the other drooping in concern, finger wiping the latest stream of tears from her face. “And you?”

“I'm fine,” Natasha’s words from earlier coupled with the knowledge that he’d actually been shot, hits her, and she finds that she can’t stop her mouth, “I'm sorry, I didn't know that was going to happen and I didn't mean to put you on that situation and I didn't ever want you to get hurt because I've not wanted to tell people and I don't want you to be mad and,”

“Wanda,” an emptiness weighs on her arms when he releases her, stepping back, eyes scrutinizing her face. She can't tell what he's feeling, powers erratically functioning as the tears keep coming. Vision places a hand on each of her shoulders, “breathe.” She sucks in a shuddering breath, holding it in her lungs until it hurts and then letting it out. “I am fine, you did nothing wrong, and I am not angry.”

The intention is to say it loudly, but her voice quivers, reducing the volume to just above a whisper. “But I could have killed you, I would have killed someone else. Vision, I can't do this alone.”

“But you did not harm anyone.”

Wanda stares into his eyes, frustration building at his calm demeanor, needing him to act more emotionally so she doesn't feel hyperbolic in her own response. “If we had just told them you'd be fine, not grimacing each time you move, not forcing yourself to be calm when I can tell you'd like to tell me I need to be more careful,” the accusation falls from her mouth wholly unsubstantiated, and she finds it doesn't matter if he thinks that way because she does and he needs to understand that, “I'm sure you'd like to tell me we should have told them by now.”

Vision hesitates, eyes spinning as he assesses the potential trap, yet still, as always, he waltzes right in. “It might have helped.”

The thing about stress and hormones, about complicated emotions and near death is that sometimes what is wished, when it happens, can elicit a response antithetical to planned. Wanda finds herself enraged at his words, body trembling. “I knew it. Well why don't we just tell them now!”

“Wanda, I-”

“Uh yeah, please,” they both turn towards the voice, their teammates lined up and staring at them. Steve terrified, Sam concerned, Natasha smirking, and Rhodes shifting his eyes between them as he finishes his thought, “we'd like to know whatever this is about.”

Vision freezes, hands slowly dropping from her shoulders and mind whirling, thoughts unfocused and unsettled. This really wasn't what they planned and Wanda feels guilty, a new constant in her life. There's even a notebook on the night stand containing the different ways Vision came up with telling the team, some grand with balloons and others more in line with his usual subdued methods, just a simple, short meeting. But this wasn't included and Wanda can tell it's throwing him off, so she grips his hand, reassuringly squeezing it before turning to the team, her previous anger sliding away easily. “Well we've been meaning to tell you that, um,” Wanda glances at him, assuming the soft dip of his chin is confirmation that she should continue. “I'm pregnant.”

“With twins,” is added by Vision for clarification.

The silence is deafening, air thickening with the confused stares from the rest of the team. And then Rhodes drops his head, rummaging through his pockets until he produces a folded twenty dollar bill and hands it over to a grinning Natasha. But it's Sam that breaks the silence with a whoop, a “Congratulations!” and an enthusiastic throw of his arms around both of them.

Rhodes waits until the group hug ends, simply shaking their hands, friendly and still slightly confused smile on his face but an “Awesome news” confirming he's happy for them.

“How far along?”

Vision fields Natasha's question, gesturing more than usual due to his excitement, “11 weeks, as of yesterday. They're the size of figs now.”  

Wanda's fear of scrutiny slowly rolls backs, replaced by the thrill of being able to talk openly about their experience which is enhanced as she takes in the genuinely joyful pulses from their minds, though she refuses delve into their actual thoughts. But then a sharp stab of guilt emanates from across the ship, Steve's gaze turned down as the shield in his hands rotates. “Steve,” it takes several seconds before he meets her eyes, “you didn't give me too much, I could have said no.”

The tightly controlled smile is meant to convey he understands but she can feel that he is not in agreement. “Congratulations,” the shield is placed into the holster on his back, “we have a lot to talk about when we get back.”

A gentle pressure against her hand draws her attention from the plummeting sense of worry deep in her chest, and she turns to Vision, smiling at him as he pulls her into the conversation he's having with Sam and Natasha about their growing family. For a moment, ignoring the uniforms and smell of gunfire, the advanced ship around them and the cape tapping her ankles, if she simply focuses on the comradery and amicable response to the news, the smiles and incessant questions already about names and nurseries, Wanda feels utterly normal. But normal isn't what she wants, and so she reintroduces every sensation and smell, blissful to be surrounded by such, quite frankly, weird and wonderful things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not on my watch, Byrne, Not. On. My. Watch.
> 
> Next chapter is when I believe I'll give you some answers to the how of the pregnancy. :)
> 
> As always, hope you enjoyed!!


	4. Chaotic Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though they agreed to ignore the how of the pregnancy, a new use of Wanda's powers forces them to reconsider the possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here it is. It was honestly one of the most difficult chapters (across all fics) that I've written because so much hinges on it.
> 
> As always, I hope you all enjoy this!

A metal fist thrusts out of his chest causing an automatic response that involves Vision gripping the wrist and pulling the person all the way through his body. The next step is to increase his density, bending the arm of his attacker back and pulling up, disabling the guns along the wrist with a quick electric pulse. Lastly a downward push forces the assailant onto his knees.  All of this happens outside of his awareness, relying on fine tuned proprioception and trained muscle memory, attention diverted as his eyes stare entranced by the movement of red across the room. Shimmering scarlet clouds surround Wanda, hair lifting on end as the current of her powers increases with each rotation of her arms. A soft downturn of her left wrist moving in time with the lifting of her right forearm creates a spiraling vortex expanding upwards and forwards at a steadily increasing rate. 

A whirring comes from the floor, Vision shifting to his densest form as a well-aimed shot ricochets off his chest. In the back of his mind he knows he should be paying more attention to his opponent, knows he'll likely be reprimanded for his lack of concern, but there's something about the scarlet clouds that demand analysis. It's not the usual analysis either, not just appreciating the simple elegance of the curved lines of her muscles and the fluidity of effort that tugs at her lips, not just the base, instinctive need for her that fills his chest when he follows the lines of the uniform down her body, and far more than the joy at seeing the slowly growing bump of her stomach. Something feels monumental about her actions, as if an answer is burgeoning forth from the cloud. With a final grunt the red implodes and the floor around her shifts into a wavelike pattern, rising up to block the triumphant smile on her face. 

A knee connects to his back and Vision stumbles forward a centimeter, eyes twisting to focus on Rhodes who is still on the ground, arm behind his back. Two seconds later he drops his density, watching the red, white, and blue shield fly through his abdomen. “You need to pay attention, Vision.” The shield moves in an arc, speeding back towards him and VIsion phases again, dropping his body closer to the ground, pulling Rhodes back up with him to  form his own shield as incentive for Steve to stop the assault. “That’s better, but maybe don’t use your teammate like that.”

Vision glances down, “But in this exercise he is not my teammate.”

“Come on man, you don’t even need protection,” now Rhodes’ visor lifts and his annoyance is clear. “I’d also appreciate if you’d pretend to be struggling when you kick my ass.” Rhodes yanks his body out of Vision’s grip and flies off the platform, landing near the doors and waiting for the official dismissal. 

“Alright, we’ll call it good for today,” Steve accompanies the comment with a brief nod of finality. 

One last look towards Wanda confirms that he has missed the opportunity, red cloud gone and floor resettled.  She smiles up at him with a small wave and his body dissolves down through the platform, solidifying just in time to reciprocate Wanda’s hug. “Want to join me for lunch?”  Wanda stares up at him, chin pressed into his chest so that her face is tilted at the perfect angle for him to kiss her gently, reveling in the smile that inches across her lips. It is a relief to see her happy at the end of training, a general sense of disappointment having filled her at Steve’s refusal to allow her to partake of any combat related training. But today she seems content. 

“Always, Wanda.”

“Great,” in a movement too quick to anticipate, she reaches down and smacks his butt, not blinking nor indicating that it occurred, simply turning and pulling him with her down the hallways toward the kitchen. “So how was training?”

“It was acceptable, a fairly traditional exercise, though I worry I may have bothered Rhodes with my actions.”

Wanda leans into his side, eyes trained on his face as she waits for any further elaboration on the issue, but Vision has nothing more to add. “Any guesses as to why it bothered him?”

The only notion he has is that apparently he needs to pretend to struggle, but he is not sure how it would make the situation better, as the same result would occur. Yet the more he ponders Rhodes’ reaction the more it seems to mirror other instances where similar complaints were leveled against other teammates. “I think, perhaps, I made defeating him appear too easy?”

“Bingo,” she veers away from him as they enter the kitchen, hands working strands of red to reach out and turn the oven on, open the fridge door, and grab utensils for eating. When she turns back to him, Wanda is holding a container of ricotta cheese in one hand and a bag of frozen chicken tenders in the other. “It’s demoralizing, Vizh.”

“I had no such intentions.”

With a slide of her fingers and a tip of the bag, the chicken tenders fall onto a cookie sheet in a haphazard manner, and it is clear that she is not going to straighten them out, but he assumes she would not appreciate him doing it for her. “Yeah, I know, but you know how I feel whenever I have to go hand-to-hand with Natasha. I end up a sobbing, gasping, sweaty puddle on the floor and she walks away without breaking a sweat and breathing just fine. Which could be her intention, but I hope not.” 

Vision hesitates as her words sink in. “Should I apolog-”

“No, that’ll just make it worse.” A hand reaches across the counter to pat his arm reassuringly. “Just pay more attention next time, maybe stumble once or twice, wince if you’re feeling extra dramatic.” 

“Wanda?”

The oven beeps once it is preheated and she slides the tray in, setting the timer for fifteen minutes. “Vision?”

Since getting past her morning sickness a week ago, breakfast now consists of ricotta with a drop of jelly and a mug of tea, lunch is chicken tenders and more ricotta, snacks are ricotta and sometimes a sprinkle of granola, and dinner ends the day with more chicken fingers and yet another cup of ricotta. Though Dr. Wadan showed no concern when he called her inquiring about appropriate eating habits, Vision still doubts this is healthy. “Do you believe you should try eating something other than ricotta and chicken fingers?” 

The smile is shoved from her lips by a frown, eyes narrowed and subtle tinge of scarlet in her pupils. “Do you believe it will go well for you if you take it from me?” Energy pulses around her hands and he shakes his head in the negative, only mildly curious at if she would follow through on the threat. “Good answer.”  

Vision watches as she digs a spoon into the ricotta container, satisfaction reforming on her face as she eats and he realizes (for about the sixth time that week, though clearly his resolve wavers) he can’t deny her this joy, determining that he should examine recipes incorporating both ingredients to add a touch of variety to her diet. “What were you experimenting with today, in training?”

A couple more bites pass before she puts the container down and leans her elbows on the counter. “Steve had me talk with Dr. Strange and we made a plan for working on some material manipulation.” She smiles at him, spoon dipping back into the ricotta. “It’s actually pretty fun and challenging.”

Vision sifts back through his memories of training, material manipulation seems to describe what occurs when the floor begins to wave, but the moment right before she affected the ground, an odd roiling in the air that he has never seen as a result of her powers draws his attention the most. “Would you mind showing me? I am intrigued by the fundamental workings of the process and thought it was quite beautiful to watch.”

“Fine, you smooth talker, but just until the chicken’s done,” which leaves them roughly eight minutes. He watches as she grabs her half-full mug of tea from earlier, placing it in front of him on the counter. “Okay, so,” her hands begin to glow, wisps of red snaking between her fingers as she crosses her hands over the mug. Deliberately her pinky finger lifts, skin wrinkling along her knuckle as her middle finger drops into her palm. Wanda closes her eyes then, concentration dragging her smile into a thin line, and then the fingers of her other hand wiggle much like a puppeteer. There is the roiling again, just above the surface of the tea and Vision’s eyes travel away from Wanda’s face, instead recording the cup, waiting in anticipation until a pulse of red breaks from her hands and a small billow of steam rises from the surface of the tea. “There we go.” 

Vision reaches for the cup, examining the now perfectly drinkable temperature. “How does it work?”

Wanda shrugs. “I don’t know exactly, but it feels like pulling strings, moving matter around until it just changes. Makes me feel like one of the Fates.” A brilliant smile flashes in his direction, and it almost distracts him from noticing the sudden drop in temperature of the tea, steam dissipating. He swirls the tea, checking for any changes other than the shift in temperature. “Ah, yeah, it only lasts for a little bit. Stephen said it’ll take time for it to be more permanent.”  The timer of the oven goes off and she excitedly steps away to grab the rest of her lunch. 

“What else can you manipulate?” 

“Um,” despite not needing or necessarily wanting to eat anything himself, there is still a base level of  undefinable revulsion that he feels in watching Wanda dip her chicken tender into the tub of ricotta. “I can melt and reform ice, heat tea, moved the floor today, I briefly refilled the ricotta tub last week when Sam forgot to go grocery shopping.” Her enthusiasm at the last comment is accentuated by the smear of ricotta on the edge of her lip.  “It doesn’t always work though.”  

A raised finger to his lip alerts her to the stray food on her face, rose blooming across her skin as she wipes it away. “What do you mean?”

“Just that sometimes it works sometimes it doesn’t.”

Vision nods, tucking the information into the back of his mind for further contemplation. 

  
  
  


It has never been in Vision’s nature to under analyze an issue, but he is also more than willing to drop a topic when it is deemed unimportant or too important to fight about details. Currently, however, he finds himself wishing he could control his thoughts more, erring on the side of under analysis, but he can’t seem to let go the image of Wanda warping the floor, so much so that they spent the rest of the afternoon with her showing him all that she can do, multiple times for each skill so he could gather the necessary data. And now, because he cannot turn his mind off, instead of laying next to her in bed he finds himself ringing a doorbell. 

Three minutes pass, his hand itching to ring the bell again for good measure, and then the door opens, tired, yet curious eyes taking him in. “What’d you do, Robo-son?”

Tony steps aside, allowing Vision to walk into the atrium of the penthouse. He briefly catalogs the subtle changes that have occurred since the last time he visited, particularly enjoying the inclusion of a new Monet painting before responding. “Why do you presume I have done something wrong?”

“Because no sane, married man would be visiting me at two in the morning if he hadn’t been kicked out of bed.” Tony tilts his head, a cocky suredness in the movement as he does a  _ tsk tsk _ , finger wagging with each syllable. “Clearly you’ve been kicked off the couch too.” 

This already feels as if it was a mistake, but Vision was unable to identify anyone else who would be able (and willing) to double check his calculations, at least at this time at night. “Wanda and I are perfectly happy right now.”  Disbelief pulls at Tony’s left eye, an annoying wink confirming that he’s not buying the explanation, despite its truthfulness. “I am here because I wished for you to check a mathematical model for me.”

“What type of model? Are we talking vodka or scotch level thinking?” 

Vision lifts the bag in his hand, passing it to Tony and watching as he pulls out the bottle of aged scotch, an appreciative nod matching the smirk on his face. “That’s my boy. Come on.” 

When they arrive in the lab, Tony points towards the transparent screen standing in the middle of the room. With a swift touch, Vision transfers the necessary data to the computer, an integration that he and Tony created the first time they worked together after his creation. Quickly the screen fills with numbers and symbols on the inside and along the outside the series of recordings he took from Wanda’s demonstrations that afternoon. “What I believe-”

Tony lifts a hand, silencing Vision before crossing his arms and scrutinizing the screen. Carefully he pinches and waves his fingers to swivel the equation for better view and watches some of the videos. “You know son, I hate chaos theory.” Which serves to confirm the conclusions Vision had already reached. “But in terms of chaos theory, this seems pretty cut and dry. I mean look at the Lorenz plot.” Both men take in the concentric lines, forming separate egg-shaped patterns that overlap at a central point at the bottom. Tony pivots away from the screen, one eyebrow raised as he stares at Vision. “So my question from before still stands: What sane married man wants to visit me at two in the morning? Why are you hiding this from your sexy, terrifying wife?” His face contorts, nose scrunching up and pulling his lips with it, an uncomfortable shiver passing through this body. “Which I now realize is creepy since she is technically my daughter-in-law.” 

An unneeded inhale and exhale flows from Vision’s lungs as he prepares himself. The team found out three weeks ago but for some reason he has yet to inform Tony, going so far as to even ask Rhodes to not mention it. There is no logic behind him hiding it, a fact that has troubled him, but he found the best way to deal with the slithering discomfort of a secret was to just pretend like there was no one else to tell. “Wanda is pregnant, with twins.”

An “Oh…” cranks Tony’s jaw open, eyes widening in disbelief and confusion. “They’re yours?”

He is the first person to ask the question out loud. Vision assumed, if it ever happened, that he would be offended by the accusation, but the way Tony asks, voice soft and eyes sympathetic, means he is concerned. Not concerned for Wanda nor for the twins, but for Vision’s well-being and this atypical paternalistic show is oddly relieving. “Yes, they are mine, despite the scientific impossibility.”

“And you think this,” Tony spreads his arms wide to indicate the screen, “might explain it?”

“It crossed my mind, yes.”

Vision watches as Tony paces the room several times, eyes never leaving the board until he grabs the bottle of scotch and a glass. “I still don't get why we're doing this now.”

“Wanda and I agreed it was healthiest for our relationship to not dwell on the impossibilities of the situation but to instead embrace the future.”

An understanding nod meets his words. “So burying the hatchet, so to speak?”

“Precisely.”

Tony takes a slow, appreciative sip of the scotch. “And yet here you are at three in the morning with a shovel.” The blame, he would argue, falls on the lateness of the hour and the mental energy it takes to engage in conversation with Tony, but Vision chuckles at the remark, an action that curves Tony’s mouth into a prideful grin. “Alright, so, clearly you knew this was the embodiment of chaos theory, because no Stark is stupid enough not to realize that.”  It is the first time Tony has actually referred to him as being a Stark, sure he has levied the terms  _ son _ and the less well-received  _ robo-son _ , but never has he offered up the family name. “What do you want me to look at exactly?”

The other glove to control the screen is on the table and Vision slips it on, lifting his hand to select two of the videos and bring them into the center of the screen, a flourish outward of his fingers expanding them for better viewing. “These are two instances, mere minutes apart, of the same action. In one Wanda succeeds,” a flick of his index finger plays the video. The corner of his mouth lifts as he watches Wanda roll her eyes at him, leveling her hands over the ricotta container and calling up whirlpool of red, fingers weaving, plucking at the invisible string she claims she can find. Then the red bursts forth and ricotta fills the tub. The video stops. “In the other, she fails.” An almost identical video plays, minus an eye roll which is replaced by a disbelieving (and markedly sensuous) smile before she performs the same action, this time the container remaining half-empty. 

“Can you go back to the first one?” The first video plays again, but this time Vision slants his view to the side in order to study Tony’s response, taking in the way he cups his chin in one hand and hangs the other at his side, forgetting about the aged scotch. “Roll it back and slow it right before the grande finale.” Vision waves his finger, moving the video to the instance he himself had wished to study as well. On the screen the red moves slower, miniscule whips curling through the air and then an almost imperceptible ripple courses through the air, oscillating against an invisible curved barrier. Then it breaks, consumed by the red. “That wasn’t in the other one.” 

“It was not.” 

The scotch is reverently placed on the table, Tony approaching the screen and replaying the video three more times. “Friday?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you run this against Protocol 534-R?” 

“Yes sir!”

Tony shifts through the other videos, marking the timepoints in each successful attempt where the phenomenon occurs. A ding from the screen accompanies a flash of light. “Okay, take that file and look it over, I'll do the same but I think there might be answers.”

“We can examine it now.”

“Naw, you better get back before she wakes up. Don't want you actually booted to the couch.” A dismissive wave sends the file across the screen where Vision taps to accept it before turning to leave the room. “Vision,” he stops, twisting around to stare at Tony waiting for more, curious at the defeated slant developing in the man’s shoulders, “you know the only thing we have in common is intelligence and dashing good looks.”

Confusion meets the words, an unplanned hesitant step leading him back into the room “To-” 

Another wave, conveying what Vision perceives to be a sign to forget the comment, cuts him off. “Just,” Tony pours himself another glass of scotch, swirling the liquid in the cup, eyes fixed on the central point of rotation, only lifting when he speaks again, “You’re going to be a great father.” And then he turns back to the screen, shoulders squaring up and a cavalier slouch returning to his hips. 

Vision catalogues the words, an appreciative lift to his lips and a barely spoken “Thanks” leaving his lungs before he walks out of the lab. 

  
  
  


Wanda grins up at him, hands gripping the wooden breakfast tray in her lap. “What’s this?”

“It is a honey ricotta pancake with raspberry compote and whipped ricotta.” Apprehension pulls at his limbs, forcing him to sit down as he watches her inspect the pancake. Vision cannot keep his fingers from picking at the fuzz on the blanket, not realizing that he continues talking to fill the void. “I have been investigating alternative combinations to diversify your eating habits while also keeping the ingredients you most prefer.”  

Tentatively she takes a bite, a low, throaty moan of approval sending mixed signals through his brain, torn between smiling at her enjoyment and pinning her to the bed. “Wow, this is so much better than just ricotta.” Enjoyment wins out, a pleasant pride running along the edges of his thought at successfully replacing one meal with something more substantial. “How’s Tony?” The recent pleasantness flees, replaced by a feeling of being cornered with no possibility of phasing away.

“Pardon?”

“You reek of desperation and expensive scotch,” tines streaked with whipped ricotta point at his chest, “You only frequent one place that smells of such things.” 

After so many weeks of her preternatural sense of smell, he still finds himself underestimating its preciseness. “He is well, I wished for him to evaluate a mathematical model.”

“In the middle of the night?” It is in moments such as these that Vision realizes he still has much to learn about being human, clearly not fully taking into consideration the suspicion of late night meetings given he himself does not sleep.  “This have anything to do with yesterday and my pregnancy?”

“Perhaps.”

She acknowledges his admission with a surprising amount of indifference. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered the possibility as well.” The words loosen the strap holding the weight of his secret, allowing it to drop from his shoulders and breathe a little easier. “So what’d you find out?”

Vision thinks back over the data, combining the revelations from speaking with Tony to the protocol he’d pored over while cooking breakfast, he proceeds at what he considers the most accessible point. “There is statistical support behind the notion that your powers function as a chaotic system, where each element involved with using your powers is closely tied to several similar, though divergent future trajectories. The only way to truly predict the outcome would be to identify every single influence on your actions, a truly insurmountable task. According to Lyaponuv exponent we can-

“Vizh,” her hand gingerly squeezes his own, “can I have the abridged version?”

Embarrassment settles below his skin, pooling with feverish depths that would express in any normal person as a blush, but his skin lacks the ability to change in pigmentation. “My apologies, the conclusory observation, based on the strange attractor principle within chaos theory and the mimicry of your powers that map on to the gravitational waves of spacetime, is that you are able to change the fabric of reality, briefly and not yet predictably.” 

“Huh.” He had expected more of a response than a guttural and the continuation of eating her breakfast.  The tray eventually rises from her lap, hovering smoothly until finding a resting place on the desk against the wall. Wanda turns to him then, enthusiasm manifesting in a full-bodied smile, skin crinkling at the corners of her lips and eyes, “Want to test it?”

  
  


About ten minutes later Vision sits awkwardly on one of the tables in Dr. Cho’s lab, feet dangling and a foreign desire to swing them pestering his thoughts. Wanda, on the other hand, appears perfectly at ease with her legs crossed and a giddy smile on her face as her eyes roam the lab. “Do you think this'll work?”

“I am attempting to squelch any hope.”

A playful push of his shoulder eases his nerves a bit. “Guess I’ll be the optimist here.”  

Dr. Cho smiles at them, hands steady as she places electrodes to his scalp and double checks the adhesives holding the needles in his arm. Before moving to the computer, she squeezes his shoulder, a reassurance of her presence and hope in face of his general pessimistic realism. “I believe we can simply focus on identifying molecular and cellular changes today. If successful, then perhaps tomorrow we can amend our hypotheses and be more specific.”  

With a quick, encouraging kiss, Wanda leaps from the table and stands in front of him, hands lifting, invoking vortices of scarlet energy from the ground. Expertly she twists her wrists, the chipped polish on her nails mesmerizing him, serving as a point of focus so that he can remain still despite the approaching cloud of red. When the red breaks against his chest, vibrating in frenzied arcs against his skin, he realizes that there was no pulse of her powers preceding a change in reality. The strong and objective “No change,” from behind the computer, where Helen is crouched in safety, a position she long ago learned is necessary when dealing with superheros, is not surprising to him. But the deflating hope in Wanda’s eyes means she actually anticipated a change.

“Wanda,” he keeps his voice calm, devoid of all emotion, simply wavering his voice in what he knows is a comforting lilt. When she glances up at him, eyes half hidden behind her hair, he flashes a smile, “Chaos rarely works the first time.” It is an empty comment, one that he knows is not logically true as chaos can work whenever it deems, its very nature unpredictable, but it seems to work, Wanda nodding, realigning her body with conviction as she tries again. 

An hour later, however, and the only thing she has managed is to remove his sweater, a skill she perfected long ago and he suspects she only fell back on just to prove she can control something. “Vision,” sweat collects on her forehead and he struggles against the cords attached to his body, phasing out of them when Wanda begins to stumble forward. He catches her with ease, cradling her against his body and kissing her hair, hands rubbing her back. “I’m tired.”

“We can stop.” He makes eye contact with Helen, heart constricting at the apologetic gleam of tears in her eyes and he feels as if he has let the two of them down, wishing there was a way he could alter reality. 

  
  


Just like their agreement to release any lingering thoughts on how Wanda became pregnant, there is an unspoken concession that they not acknowledge the failure of their test, the rest of their afternoon spent watching animal documentaries.  Breaking only to eat, which is where they sit now, Wanda at the counter, morosely bent over the counter, face in her hands watching as he works on a ricotta alfredo sauce to go over pan fried chicken tenders.  “It is best to stop ruminating.”

“You’re one to talk.” A retort of denial would be easy, but against a mind reader who has been inside his thoughts the majority of the day, denial is impossible. “It just, it seemed so plausible.” Tears assemble in the corner of her eyes and Vision abandons the pots to wrap his arms around her. 

“It might still be plausible.” 

A snort is muffled against his sweater.  “Shut up.” 

“Never.” This finally receives a genuine smile, her hands cupping his cheeks as she kisses him, slowly and with a low-burning passion, long enough to awaken desire in his chest, but short enough that she releases him before they give in. “I love you.”

Another grin, this one accompanied by a tearful eye roll and a quick kiss. “Love you too. The sauce is bubbling over.” Laughter follows him back to the stove, hands scurrying to correct the mistake and not ruin the dinner, having gone approximately thirty five days without incident in the kitchen (a new record for him). “You said something earlier about predicting chaotic systems, do you remember?”

“Yes,” the sauce stops bubbling when he turns the temperature down and once he is convinced the crisis is averted he turns back towards her. “The only way to truly predict a chaotic system is to identify every variable that plays a role in the final outcome. But that is nearly impossible.”

Wanda bites her lip, eyes rotating up to take in the tile of the ceiling while she thinks. “What if,” he notes a flash of red in her eyes as she rolls out her thoughts, “we recreate the event? Each variable to the best of our ability?”

“That would be an ideal test but I am uncertain how we would identify the event to recreate as we were fairly...active around the supposed time of conception.” 

“Remember the floating brain?”

It is impossible to forget such a villain. “I do.”

“Remember after the floating brain, on the quinjet,” his mouth opens, prepared to outline the conversations and placement of their teammates, “not in the air, once the others left?”

Time is relative, and in this moment it seems to freeze around him, air molecules tapping into his shoulder as the breeze from the heater pushes particles around. Somehow he had not considered that evening, in all his thoughts, in all the calculations, it went past him. Now that he is reminded of it, it is the most plausible given the timeline and the use of her powers that resulted in a compound wide power outage. Just the thought of that night arouses the feelings of the moment, and his voice seems to drop an octave as he responds “I most certainly do, we got formally written up for that.” 

“We did,” a coquettish smile intensifies the heat forming in his chest. “But for the sake of science?”

“I agree. We need to perfectly recreate it, for science.”

"Perfectly, especially the density manipulation." Wanda drags her finger along the counter, eyes devouring him, a demure wink sending a jolt of electricity down his spine, and he isn’t certain if he can remain at the stove much more. “How about you leave, because I actually do need to eat and you are distracting, and we reconvene in like twenty minutes in the quinjet?” Without another word he phases through the floor. 

  
  
  


Roughly thirty minutes later, Vision stands alone in the quinjet, hands behind his back as he examines the control panel, compiling a list of the changes he would like to make to the labeling of the buttons, never being a fan of “Away We Go” for the take off sequence. The second he registers her presence on the ramp, a jittery nervousness tugs his body, feet carrying him to the entrance where he can watch her walk up to him, excited smile gracing the beautiful curve of her mouth. “How was dinner?”

“Oh,” she stops at the top, pecking his cheek before she moves to sit in her usual spot, “it was delicious, thanks.”

“You are most welcome.” 

Vision peers out the opening of the quinjet, assessing the area for any signs of life, and once satisfied, touches the button to close the ship. “Don’t, we, uh left it open, remember?” Ah yes, they did, for some reason that is not readily available. “Also, you need to lose the cape.”

The cool, transparent fabric slides between his fingertips as he plucks at it. “But I always wear my cape on missions.”

“No,” Wanda leans back, legs crossing (and he notes the workout leggings, which means a variable has already changed, not that he expects her to force herself into the leather). “I clearly remember you standing there,” she points to Sam’s seat, “with your back towards me and thanking the heavens you ditched the cape, because I needed it after that mission.”  

“No cape then,” a brisk shrug and the cape is gone, Vision walking towards the spot she indicated and turning his back towards her. “Right here?”

“Mmhmm.”

In the time between leaving the kitchen and now, Vision has attempted to recreate the mentality of that moment. The floating brain villain did two things, one was shoot death rays and for the second, much like Wanda’s own powers, it was able to pull their deepest desires and blind them with the promise of attaining their wants. He recalls an image that was so lifelike it required a great deal of concentration to break the spell, but it was of him and Wanda, a smile on her face as she held a child in her arms. “Wanda, it is important to be in the same mindset from that day.”

Their minds link seamlessly and she shows him her thoughts, an image of twin boys racing around him in a circle while she laughs. “Already there.” They had, in the week leading up to the mission, begun seriously considering alternative options to conceiving a child, and so it was not a surprise they saw similar visions on the mission. “Okay so let’s say we just landed and the others left. You turned around,” he turns towards her, heart stopping and breath fleeing at the half-lidded lust of her eyes. “And I,” slowly she pushes her hands down, standing and sashaying towards him, hand brushing hair from her neck, “did this.” Upon reaching him her left hand presses against his chest, while her right arm snakes around his back, hand traveling south with a seductive brush. “Vision?”

“Yes Wanda?”

The memory of that night fills his mind, ensnaring his voice and thoughts, no longer a distant point almost four months ago, instead alive and in the present. “You saw it too, didn’t you?”

Thoughts of children and a life filled with joy control his neck, head nodding, “I did. But Wanda that is-”

“Shh,” her finger lays against his lips and she lifts onto the tips of her toes, replacing the finger with her mouth, the kiss running down his arms, fingers clenching the fabric of her jacket, eyes closing as he melts into her embrace. Which is why the severance of the kiss is like an icy wave, desire guiding his arms to wrap around her and yank her against his body, mouth recapturing her own. “Vizh,” the  _ v  _ is far more pronounced, a plea for him to promise he will continue once she’s done, “let’s have a baby.”

The words bring the image back to his mind, a deep rooted sorrow interfering with the way his body craves her own. “Wanda that is impossible.”

Playfully she walks her fingers up his chest, each point of contact dissolving his uniform to reveal bare skin and the sheen of vibranium under the florescent lights of the ship. Once her hands have traveled far enough, she pulls his face back down to hers, lips lightly against his so that she can speak and yet remain in contact. Though it is not the same as the night they recreate, he cannot help but say the words with her, “Wanna bet?” Vision captures her lips, body slamming into the wall as she pushes hungrily against him. 

  
  
  


Steve begrudgingly agreed to play poker, an activity that is typically acceptable except when Natasha organizes the event. Then every single person goes in knowing there is only going to be one person leaving with money. At the moment, much to Natasha’s annoyance (and the elation of Rhodes and Sam), Steve lays his Royal Flush on the table, hand collecting the tower of chips. The lights flicker, an unsettling tinge of red enveloping the room in a curved pattern, energy pulsating against some barrier as the table shakes. An exasperated “Not again” echoes against the walls as the compound is bathed in utter darkness. 

  
  
  


Vision finds himself on the edge of a lab table again, chest heaving as he attempts to collect his calm, fingers shaking as he helps Helen shove needles into his arm. “We have less than three minutes.”

“Yeah, you warned me already.” Helen rushes to the computer, fingers flying across the keyboard as she hunches closer to the screen. “Got it, also thanks for the backup generator.” 

His muscles relax knowing that the only thing he can do now is wait three minutes and test again. “You are welcome, I recall you losing data the last time.”

“Lots of data.” Clicking from the keyboard presents a soothing rhythm, his eyes closing as he continues to steady his heartbeat and breathing. “You know, I hope your kids want you this involved in their sex lives.”

It is a comment that is difficult to decode, partially a compliment as he hopes his children feel comfortable with him, but the tone implies he should not want such a relationship to exist. “I would be honored.” Helen laughs, a shake of her head indicating he is still missing something. After four minutes she conducts the test again, giving him a thumbs up when it is okay to phase out of the needles. 

Three more minutes pass in silence, and Vision waits in anticipation, fingers relentlessly tapping the metal table as they wait for both the results and Wanda. A couple minutes later she runs in, hands taming her mussed hair and fixing the off-kilter slant of her corset.  She bypasses Helen with just a wave, instead greeting him with a deep and satisfied kiss. “You two ready?”

“One sec,” Wanda leans into him, forehead flush against his own and her breath breaking on every third inhale. “Vision, it's okay if it didn't work. I don't care, okay?” He reassures her with a kiss. “Alright, we're ready.”

Though he is not paying attention to Dr. Cho, he imagines a dramatic flourish of her wrist before she pushes the final button. “Holy shit,” the clanging of metal containers and screech of table legs causes him to glance away from Wanda, discovering Dr. Cho steadying herself on the table. “The first test, holy shit,” it is the most he has heard her curse in all the years they've known each other. “Vision the first test your genome is compatible with hers but the second returned you to your incompatible baseline. How is that, that's impossible, all research suggests”  

Her words fade, syllables distant and incomplete as his brain processes the meaning. “We did it?” Disbelief wells in his eyes, the unfamiliar brush of water running down his cheeks. Cool metal from the rings on her hands awakens the nerves of his face, attention moving to take in Wanda as she grins up at him, placing fluttering kisses along his cheeks to remove his tears as her own fall on his chest. 

“We did,” she tugs him into a tighter embrace, fingers running lovingly along his skull and down his back, “in our own weird, chaotic way, we did it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering how this came to be, I tried to pay homage to the comics (https://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/s--sD9lh5pl--/c_scale,f_auto,fl_progressive,q_80,w_800/crogectlu8rmwangtofz.png ) while also changing it a bit. 
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!!


	5. Going Public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of the pregnancy is released to the public and the Maximoffs struggle with the added attention.

“This is your last chance,” Wanda nudges his shoulder, holding the notebook out to him. 

Vision grabs the notebook and studies the chart he drew so carefully at the beginning of the week, each line perfectly straight and evenly spaced, marred only by the sloppiness of the handwriting within the cells.  “I am simply not comfortable betting money on our children.” She watches as he flips the page over, forehead wrinkling as he takes in a haphazardly jotted list of the results of her week-long journey of at-home sex detection methods. “I am surprised by your wager.”

“Why? I did all of the tests and they came back even.” The distaste on his face causes her to laugh, head coming to lay on his shoulder, accompanied by a gentle pat of his arm. “Are you sure you don’t want to try just one, for fun?”  

A shake of his head emphasizes the response she’s gotten all week, “I believe giving credence to such pseudoscientific beliefs of probability and prediction is a dangerous and slippery slope.”

“Then why’d you try all those pseudoscientific remedies for my morning sickness?” The lure is cast, the twitch of his lips signally that she’s placed him in a perfect position for the next comment. Wanda licks her lips, rehearsing the words Helen suggested. “Just one wouldn’t hurt, right? You wouldn’t want to go in there and find out the sex and then complete all the tests with,” she adds a dramatic twinge of disgust to her voice, rolling the  _ h _ s along the back of her tongue for greater emphasis, “ _ post hoc _ hypotheses.”

The waiting room is silent, allowing him no escape from her incessant asking and she can feel his resolve finally slip, an audible sigh and droop of his shoulders the death knell of his resistance.  “Fine, but please note my conscientiously determined objections and reiteration of a general lack of validity for such tests.”

“Duly noted,” she reaches out and grabs his left hand, pulling it across his lap. “May I have your ring?” Reluctantly he slides the ring off his finger, gently placing it in her hand, eyes narrowing in curiosity as she grabs a string from her sweatshirt pocket and ties it around the ring.  Once the string is secure she unzips her sweatshirt. “Okay, so they say if the ring moves in circles then it’s a girl, but if it swings back and forth, then it's a boy.”  A raised finger draws her attention, always a sign that there is an addendum to her comment. “Yes I know that the very nature of us having twins makes this even more unlikely.” Vision nods, finger traveling from correcting her to allowing her to commence with the activity. Carefully she lifts the ring to hover over her stomach and they watch as it spins several times, string twisting and then untwisting, and then the ring swings back and forth. “See, one of each.” Vision grabs the string from her hand, repeating the test, brow furrowed in deep concentration as he watches the ring swing and then spin. 

He goes to complete the test a third time when a “Wanda” causes him to startle. A nurse smiles at them through the open door.Vision stands, reaching out to help her to her feet and Wanda unties the string, handing him the ring and grinning as he slides it back on. 

They walk down the hallway, stopping briefly to get her weight and blood pressure, a routine she has never minded until she hears the nurse repeat the number she’s shocked at reading on the scale. A glance to the side seems to confirm that Vision isn’t paying attention, eyes trained on a poster explaining the importance of monthly breast examines, which means she knows what he’ll insist she do later in the day, but that isn’t the biggest concern. What’s more concerning is she’s somehow gained twenty-three pounds in the past month, her hands travel to rub her stomach, thoughts circling around the ricotta pancakes and chicken she insisted Vision make her (yet again) this morning.  

“Alright come on,” the nurse breaks her reverie, a friendly smile and nod towards the hallway, leading them into the ultrasound room. “Go ahead and lay on the bed, the technician will be in briefly.”

The last time they sat in this room, the atmosphere was stifling, apprehension and uncertainty swirling into a vortex of despair, but this time, the lights seem a bit brighter, the hand-painted flowers on the wall and kitschy sayings about love and family a bit more inviting. Even Vision’s movements are looser, body easily settling into the chair at her side, fingers laced with her own as he leans forward to place a kiss on the top of her hand.  “Any decision yet?” 

“Yes,” briefly he lets go of her hand, writing down his wager in the notebook, letters meticulously written in all caps (sizes varying based on capitalization) for maximum readability.  “I believe I will say boy for both of them.” 

Wanda gasps dramatically, grinning at the delighted laugh it encourages from him. “You’re going against the ring test?”

The technician walks in before he can respond, friendliness written on her face as she sets up the screen.  “How’re mom and dad doing today?” 

“Good, excited.”

“Excellent.” Wanda watches as the woman grabs a crescent-shaped device and squirts the same viscous gel Vision uses for their heartbeat doppler on the edge. “Sorry if my hands are cold.” Gently she pulls up Wanda’s shirt, exposing the well-defined curve of her stomach, and then tucks a towel into the top of Wanda’s pants, pulling them down to finish displaying her abdomen. “Before I get started, are we finding out the sex today?”  

A shared glance and nod of agreement passes between them, Vision gripping her hand a bit tighter as he responds, “I believe so.”

Another difference from their last venture in this room is that instead of ill-defined, gummy-bear shaped blobs, the image that meets them is instantly more recognizable as an actual body, the profile of the head clearly showing eyes, a nose and mouth, the arms and legs visible from the current angle. It might be the most amazing thing Wanda has ever seen, heart swelling and eyes beginning to tear up at the way the image moves across each feature, focusing in on the head and then the neck, the wand moving down lower on her stomach until the defined lines of the spine curve into view.  Without taking her eyes off the screen, Wanda is certain Vision is experiencing the same awe, the brush of his sweater against her hand indicating that he’s sitting on the edge of his seat and leaning forward for a better view. “Look at those toes!” The technician coos at the image, her excitement reflecting their own even though Wanda is sure the woman has completed thousands of ultrasounds. “Oh my!” 

Vision straightens in his seat, hand squeezing hers harder than usual. “Is something wrong?”

The black and white image swoops again, wand gliding along her oblique, “No, this little guy is just ready to show you that he’s a boy!” Wanda smirks at the screen, a tiny butt and two legs spread wide for the whole world to see, and yes, even she would be able to reach the same conclusion. “Okay, so all his measurements seem good, let’s go to the next one.” The technician picks up the ultrasound wand and places it on Wanda’s other side, lifting it briefly to squirt more gel on the edge. It takes several seconds before the second baby pops onto the screen, clicking and typing coming from the console as the woman labels the same measurements as the first one. 

There is a jolting movement on the screen and Vision tenses again. “Is the baby okay?”  Wanda turns towards him, a tender smile forming on her face at his concern and she brushes his mind with her powers, sending him calming thoughts. 

“Yeah, this one just doesn’t want to stay still. Mom can you feel all this flailing?”

Wanda shakes her head, eyes watching as the baby kicks and punches on the screen but nothing new or abnormal registers in her senses. “Should I be able to?”

The image moves again, finding the spine and rotating constantly to keep up with the frenzied movement of the baby. “Soon, it’s okay if you can’t feel it yet, but you’ll probably start to notice it any time now. I always told my wife it felt like butterfly wings at the beginning. By the end it’s more like an incessant battering ram.” Though her eyes remain on the screen, Wanda finds herself focusing more on her body, attempting to locate any feelings that fit with the description, but all she can feel is the pressure of the ultrasound wand and Vision’s hand on her own.  “Well, look at that,” the screen matches the view they had earlier, “two boys.” 

“Pseudoscience loses again.” 

“Oh shut up and enjoy the moment.”

  
  


Immediately after returning from the doctor, Wanda and Vision join the team in the conference room, varying levels of unease on their faces and Wanda can’t help from slouching down lower in her chair, one hand resting on her stomach and the other on Vision’s thigh. “Alright everyone!” If not for the general disquiet of the room, Wanda would normally snicker at the daggers in Sam’s eyes, but given the topic of the meeting, she instead finds herself joining in glaring at the man standing in front of the room. He’s short, legs belonging to a person at least six inches taller and his torso to someone four inches shorter, wears a sweater-pants combo similar to Vision (though he does not pull it off nearly as well), and each meeting he attempts more and more to match his presentation style to Tony’s grandiose and frenetic energy. 

It is, in general, not in Wanda’s nature to hate (or at least strongly dislike) the very existence of a person (minus a few choice candidates) but she’s willing to make an exception for Gerard here, their PR strategist. A reassuring pressure on her hand draws her attention up to Vision’s face, his attempt at a comforting smile failing the second he winces as the man keeps talking.  “So today we need to discuss our strategies for the upcoming Stark Charity Ball, namely,” the green dot of his presentation laser lands on her hand, moving in taunting circles, “the elephant in the room.”  She understands the phrase, but given what she learned this morning of her recent weight gain in the past (truly glorious morning sickness free) month, Wanda is not in the mood.

“Perhaps a less indelicate phrase would suffice.” Her eyes must be red, because Vision’s voice only ever trembles like that when he fears she is about to go supernova.

“Oh, right,” the green dot moves back to the screen as he clicks to the next slide, manic smile keeping his mouth tense and Wanda finds that she hopes his face hurts from the effort. “As you can see,” the screen fills with tabloid stories about robot babies and Twitter reactions to the adjustments in her uniform, “there is already significant chatter about Wanda’s situation, and let’s be honest,” a pointed look at her stomach is accompanied by a slick smile that makes her squirm, “everyone’s going to know as soon as she steps out of the limo this weekend.” 

This time it’s Steve who keeps things moving, “Why don’t we just get to the point, we all know Wanda’s pregnant so what do you suggest we do?” 

Despite their well-founded dislike for Gerard as a person, he has yet to lead them astray at controlling their public image, and so she allows him to keep going, hand waving as an okay but a flare up of red warning him to tread lightly. “Right, so my cool cats, the first suggestion is that we place an announcement in the New York Times that way the news has a chance to spread and they’ll have time to formulate their questions.” The man waits, anticipating the typical push back, but everyone gives him either a shrug, a nod, or silence. “Fantastic! Next I’ve arranged for Nat,”

“Natasha.” 

The man smirks, waving a flirtatious finger in Natasha’s direction. “Nat and Wanda to have a private ladies’ day shopping excursion at the area’s most exclusive maternity boutique. Paparazzi will be allowed outside but not inside. Wanda,” the green pointer is back on her stomach and she can feel the red boiling up through her skin, “you’ll need to hide that ginormous bump for the trip because that baby,” he laughs at himself, eyebrows waggling to let everyone know he’d been planning the comment the whole time, “is making its grand debut at the Stark Charity Ball this weekend.” 

“Are there any plans for interviews?” Rhodes sifts through the pile of papers they’d been given, a detailed timeline of the release of information and the estimates of how many people will read about each subsequent event. 

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Vision nodding, free hand flipping over the pages to confirm the information. “I had a similar inquiry. Based upon your schedule it appears the first conversations we will be having with the press occur at the Charity Ball itself,” the papers tap against the table as he sorts them back into place. “Would it not be more beneficial for Wanda and myself to speak with a reporter known to approve of our relationship thus allowing us complete control over the pertinent information?”

“Oh V-man,” Gerard places his hands delicately over his heart, “so innocent, so pure, my little sweater buddy, that’s why you’re my favorite.” A couple of snickers escape from their teammates, only serving to deepen the frown tugging at Vision’s lips. “No interviews, the Charity Ball gives us the perfect chance to let you talk as little or as much as you like, and then escape. Now we did run a focus group, using representative samples from three groups: those who strongly support the relationship, those who are ambivalent, and of course those that find it, frankly, unsettling.” Vision’s thigh muscles tense, an automatic response anytime they bring up the backlash to their relationship, and Wanda gives his leg a squeeze. “I figured we could go over the questions they came up with so we’re all on the same page with the answers.”

All eyes swivel towards her and Vision, and a quick sweep of his thoughts coats her own mind in discomfort, causing her to stare hard at the side of his face until he meets her eyes. His irises rotate counterclockwise, an edginess to his mind suggests he might phase through the floor any second. “Could we maybe go over them just with the team first and then share our answers with you before the weekend?” 

“Fantastic...Oh,” a deflated sigh and a purposely slow and pathetic closing of the computer releases the tension from the room, a collective exhale at this part of the meeting being done, “yeah, um, sure. Email me the answers so I can pass it along. I’ll send information for the rest of the plan.”

Steve stands and shakes the man’s hand, dismissing him with a tight-lipped, raised eyebrow look that transforms into one of exhausted relief once the man is out of the room. 

“So,” Rhodes reaches out and grabs the questions, fingers gently hugging the paper and eyes roaming the words before saying anything else. “First, What are you having?”

“Twins.” 

Vision smiles down at her and for a moment she forgets everyone else in the room as he adds to the information, “Boys.” 

“Ah!” Sam jumps up from his chair, arms thrusting forward and pulling back, hand in a fist as he celebrates. “Called it!” He jogs around the table, high-fiving a smug Natasha and an only slightly less smug Vision, the team having waited in anticipation of the reveal all week to see who won. Team Boy clearly victorious over Team Girl (Rhodes and Clint) and Team Mixed (Steve, Wanda, and Scott). 

A nudge to her shoulder and a twinkle in his eyes is all she needs to rifle through the bag at her feet, pulling out a strip of ultrasound printouts from that morning. “We have pictures.”  For the next five minutes no one acknowledges the meeting,  _ oohs  _  and  _ awws _ and  _ that’s amazings _ at the 3-D ultrasounds, the big winner being the picture that Vision has already vowed will be framed by that evening, both of their boys’ faces in one shot, with one of them reaching out and touching the other’s cheek.  

Once the room settles down a new energy in the air emerges, thrusting out the exasperation from before and replacing it with electric excitement. Rhodes continues. “Due Date?”

“September 15th.”

“We’ll need to have a pool for that as well,” Sam points at a grinning Natasha, who already has the calendar for September pulled up and shoots him a quick thumbs up. 

“Next question, any cravings?”

“Nope.” Which garners the exact reaction she was hoping for, raised brows around the table and an incredulous gleam in Vision’s eyes matching the adorable smile on his face that would only be enhanced if he rolled his eyes. Wanda winks at him, before finishing her answer. “Just Vision.” 

Rhodes gags, Steve shakes his head, and the  _ nice one _ from across the table is drowned out when Vision releases a self-conscious laugh, hand coming up to hide his face from the room, still flustered, after all this time, by her directness. “Perhaps we should leave that last part out.” 

The next items all are met with a simple  _ no _ s, asking about swollen feet, names, nursery colors, if she can feel any kicks yet, and if she still has morning sickness. Then Rhodes’ stops, eyes shifting up to glance guiltily at Vision before looking back at the list. His fingers tighten around the paper, crinkling the pristine white sheet as he talks. “This question is ridiculous,” is followed by a nervous laugh. “Who,” he clears his throat, “who is the father?” 

Wanda can feel the scarlet cloud engulf her body, eyes narrowing at the still somewhat curious looks around the table, even though they had already excitedly informed the team of their discovery (albeit failing to mention some of the more intimate details).“Vision, you idiots. We're not going back down that hole, so next.” The rest of the questions are innocent enough and she even manages to get Vision to laugh again with her retelling of the first thing he said when she told him the news. 

  
  
  
  


The next morning there are five hundred and eighty-five messages in her official Avengers email, varying in formality and directness but the overwhelming majority coming from press and fans alike. Vision glances over her shoulder, hand coming to rest on her back as he reads the one she has opened. “It appears the announcement went out.”

“No shit. How’s social media looking?” 

“It is difficult to decipher, but I believe mainly positive, a large number of expletives but the majority are not derogatory.” The relief rolls off of him, allowing her to bask in the comfort of his joy, smile growing larger when he leans down to kiss her cheek. “Would you like me to make your usual before Natasha arrives?” 

The first response is  _ yes _ , but then Wanda looks down, taking in the distinct roundness of her stomach protruding out further than she ever thought was possible, she determines that perhaps allowing her tastebuds to make decisions is not a sustainable plan. “I was thinking I should start eating a bit healthier. Dr. Wadan said I should only gain one and a half pounds a week.” Not the roughly 5 pounds a week she gained in the last month.

The refrigerator opens, light illuminating Vision’s outline as he bends to examine its contents. He turns back around with an individual sized container of greek yogurt and a tupperware filled with mixed berries. “Would this suffice? It contains the requisite amount of protein to energize you for the trip and is far more nutritional than the pancakes.” Which is true, but Wanda scrunches her nose, tastebuds unable to cope with the idea of eating yogurt at the moment. Vision nods, turning back to the fridge, creating a cacophony as he rummages through the shelves. “Perhaps an egg white omelet with spinach and a side of whole wheat toast?” 

“Um no.”

Another nod and he puts the eggs and spinach back, standing up straight to open the freezer door, but then closing it quickly, clearly dissatisfied. He steps to the left, turning the knob of the pantry, bending his knees to give him a better vantage of the lower shelves. “There are english muffins and peanut butter, that coupled with the fresh fruit would be an ideal choice as well.”

Wanda almost agrees, but can’t bring herself to do it. “I’m not really feeling that either.” 

The english muffins go back into the pantry and he turns around, hands lightly clasped in front of him as his mouth falls half-open in contemplation. “I do have more batter from the pancakes that should be used before it goes to waste, though this is clearly not the healthiest option.”

Her stomach grumbles, reiterating what her taste buds already knew, despite her mind strongly disagreeing with the conclusion. “Yes please. But tomorrow I need to eat better, and I’m counting on your help.”  

“Very well,” Vision opens the fridge again, collecting the needed ingredients. “Are you excited for the shopping trip?”

Phase two of the plan occurs today as well, Natasha meeting her in thirty minutes to go shopping. “Not really, I don’t think I need any maternity clothes right now, everything still fits fine.” Vision lifts a finger, curling it back into his hand in unison with his mouth shutting, repeating the gesture three or four times before he simply smiles and focuses his attention on the stove. “Oh my god Vizh,” red flashes across her eyes at the implication, “you think I’m fat!”

The spike of terror from his mind is not about her well-being, but his own, backpedaling through his actions and lack of comment to determine exactly when he made such a claim. “Wanda-”

“Vision.” 

He breathes out, eyes resolute as he glides towards her, hand lifted in a way that most people would approach a wild animal. “It is undeniable that your body is changing, you are twenty weeks pregnant with twins. My intentions were not to imply anything other than you might be more comfortable with clothing designed specifically to accommodate these changes.” Once he’s at her side he sits down, hands gripping her own as he levels the carefully practiced and perfected bashful, boyish grin he knows gets him out of trouble. “You are still undeniably beautiful and unbelievably sexy” 

“Good save, Maximoff.” 

  
  
  
  


“This stuff is…”

Natasha finishes the statement, studying a high-necked billowing curtain of a dress covered in roses the size of Wanda’s hand, “Interesting.” Just as promised the cameras and reporters were only outside the store, Natasha guiding them effortlessly through the crowd until they reached the serenely quiet haven of the boutique. They’d strategized their shopping, agreeing to each take a side of the store and gather any items that seemed most in her style. Unfortunately it appears that pregnant women are supposed to love pastels, large patterns, and cloyingly bright pinks. “I haven’t found anything yet, you?”

A deflated “No” is shot back, hand pushing the hangers around in search of something black or at least somewhat muted. She stops at a dress, yanking it from the rack and holding it aloft for Natasha, who responds with a quick  _ Ah! _ at the pattern of baby rattles and pacifiers on an otherwise normal looking black dress. 

“Wanda!” The voice comes from further back in the store, Natasha’s red hair barely visible through the wall of mannequins placed helpfully in the middle of the floor, “Found your section.” Wanda puts the hideous dress back, weaving in and out of the narrow, enclosed aisles, until she reaches the one rack of clothing that lacks a single color brighter than hunter green. “Here,” a pile of clothes is shoved into her arms, “grab a dressing room and I’ll bring the rest.”

The dressing rooms are tiny, the majority of the space filled with a tri-fold mirror that allows Wanda to study her body from multiple angles at one time. Her hands run along her bare stomach, not recognizing the body reflected back at her as she pokes at the firm mound that seemed to appear overnight and refuses to stop growing. A fluttering sensation just below her belly-button confirms her excitement, lips parting into a broad smile, fingers skimming along her stomach again. 

“You okay in there?”

“Oh yeah, sorry. One sec.” Wanda snatches up a pair of leggings, hands yanking them on and then throws on a simple scarlet t-shirt, nodding in approval at the way the ruching along the seams enhances the shape of her stomach without making it grotesquely huge. “What do you think?”

The once over she gets is difficult to interpret, Natasha’s mouth settled into a neutral smirk and eyes betraying nothing. “Not bad, it looks comfy.”

“It is,” she moves a bit, relishing in the freedom that all the elastic allows her, not realizing until now how constrained her body felt in her usual clothes. “This might be the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn.”  

“Good.” 

That’s all of a response she gets but it is enough to confirm they are on the right track, similar comments leveled with each outfit she tries on, though occasionally Natasha sends her curls flying with a hard no. Wanda finally reaches the end of the pile, stepping into a black dress and smiling at the way it makes her appear smaller except for her stomach. She assumes some sort of witchcraft is used to construct the clothes in such a way. With a small flourish she pushes the curtains back and finds that Natasha is not paying attention, eyes drawn to a leather jacket that her fingers run along, a soft smile that could be construed as melancholic on her face. “What do you think of this one?”

The jacket is thrown at Wanda face, Natasha’s lips curve up into an approving arc when she adds it to the ensemble. “Now that’s you.” 

Wanda spins to check in the mirror. “Yeah, this is perfect.”  A hesitant curiosity keeps her from reentering the dressing room, mustering enough bravery to finally ask the question that’s pestered her mind for week.  “Nat?” 

“Yeah?”

“What does everyone think, about all of this, for real?” Other than a moratorium on her participation in combat activities, Wanda has been unable to fully map how the team feels about the pregnancy. 

“We’re all happy for you,” Natasha gives her a characteristic spy smile, one meant to hide any information but still make someone feel as if they learned something valuable. Slowly she motions for the leather jacket, adding it to the Yes pile of clothes. “But there’re some concerns . You’re the first Avengers to have kids together which means, unlike Clint or Scott who have someone always able to babysit, you won’t. So,” the precision she devotes to sorting the clothes seems to mirror the way she sorts through her thoughts, a general sense of plucking and pruning larger ideas until they are small enough to express in a generality. “Steve is stressed about the logistics. None of us want to lose the advantage of bringing both of you on a mission.”

The words absorb quickly into her brain, aligning with the brief glances of concern she’s gathered during trainings and meetings. “And you?”

She shrugs, depositing the No pile into the bin meant for employees and picking up the Yes pile in a show that the shopping trip needs to wrap up soon, “I’ve been Aunt Nat for a long time, it’s fun, I enjoy it. But,” briefly the mask of indifference falls and Wanda can clearly see a flash of unease in her eyes, “I've never lived with my nieces and nephews full time and in a location that is easily traceable.” Which carries an implication that this topic has been discussed with someone else and very well will be brought up with them at some point in the future.  “Anyway, change so we can get out of here and eat, I'm starving.”

  
  
  
  


The night of the annual Stark Charity Ball arrives sooner than Wanda would like, the team sitting in the back of a limo, everyone dressed according to the strict orders of Pepper. A queasiness sloshes in the pit of her stomach, nothing resembling morning sickness, more nausea born out of the terror of what this night will entail. Red flicks between her fingers, entangling with the sequins of her extremely tight fitting dress (the seamstress informing her the bump had to be the star at all costs) and pulsing furiously up her arms and across her eyes. Vision reaches down, easing her fingers open enough that she can clutch onto him, tethering herself in hopes of finding safety; however, reading his thoughts only makes her nerves worse. Concerns over reactions to the news circling dangerously in his head like vultures: accusations of cheating, questions about his anatomy, and a bespeckled reporter (whom they always try to avoid at these events) lobbying the question as to why he feels he can sully such a good woman as Wanda when there are perfectly acceptable human men out there for her.  The scarlet strands from her fingers twist up his arm in solidarity with him, vanquishing only when they are informed they need to leave the limo. 

“You ready for this?” 

“No.”

Wanda grips his hand tighter, forcing a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine.”  

The rest of the team exits the car first, thunderous applause and blinding flashes from the press and fans lighting up the inside of the car. Vision kisses her before exiting as well, turning back with a gentlemanly offer of his hand. Carefully she swings her legs out of the car, the limited mobility provided by her dress make the task impossible, but with a well-practice hoist he lifts her onto her feet and into the barrage of questions being screamed at them, microphones raised to catch any sound, and a swell of clicks and flashes assaulting them from all sides. 

It was agreed that they should walk casually down the red carpet, pausing for pictures and autographs but refusing to answer questions. That is still the plan, but as Wanda stares out at the sea of people and feels the crescendo of Vision’s worries, she decides the night needs to start with one thing made absolutely clear. Without hesitation and with more force than probably necessary, she pulls his hand, swinging his body towards her so that she can throw herself against him, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss that encourages his arms to wrap around her. Vision seems to understand, smiling into her mouth as he follows her lead, dipping her low for added drama. The screams from fans drown out all other noise. 

  
  


Once inside the lobby she pulls him aside, hiding behind a pillar, silk lapels pinched between her fingers, so she can pepper him with gentle kisses and encouragements. “We just have to answer some questions and then leave, okay?”

“I know.” A hand brushes a stray hair from her exposed shoulder. “Do not forget that no one will blame you if you get,” for perhaps only the third time in his existence, Vision lifts his fingers to put air quotes around the next word, “ _ nauseous _ and need to leave.”

“Yes, and you as my doting and concerned husband would have to leave with me.”

Vision beams down at her, eyes dancing in mischief. “Precisely.”

The first wave of reporters hit them early on, questions fairly innocuous, all falling in line with the focus group list they had completed as a team. Wanda can see the other Avengers sprinkled throughout the room, each one surrounded by a group of reporters no doubt asking the same questions or perhaps some differentiating to inquire more about the impact this will have on the team. It’s when the second wave of reporters hit that it begins to get tense, the bespeckled reporter from the Daily Bugle, raising a recorder right up to Vision’s face. “Can you confirm that the deplorable Spider-Man is in fact the father of these children? Will he be raising them? Are they actually part spider? If not, why are you raising them when they could more clearly benefit from a non-robot parent?”

Vision blinks several times, mouth dropping into a serious scowl as the questions continue to be thrown at his face. “I am the father, most assuredly not spider babies, and I am not a robot.”

“Sure sure, Tony Stark made you in a lab, based on the plans of a egomaniacal robot, you aren’t fooling us!” 

Which is usually shot down by the people around them, but Wanda can sense the minds of the crowd agreeing with the words, unable to cognitively cope with the mystery of Vision’s existence, the general uncomfortableness surrounding their relationship, and now her pregnancy. Unfortunately when such uncertainties exist, people tend to fall back on paranoia and falsehood.  When a “Yeah, terminator, explain!” is raised from a woman in the middle of the crowd, Wanda apologizes to the reporter she’d been speaking to and grabs Vision’s hand.  

“Vision,” whenever the Daily Bugle is involved she makes sure to lay the affection on thick, well aware the impact it has on the press, “my love,” she kisses him slowly, fingers walking up and down his chest seductively, “would you like to dance?”  _ Dance  _ is said with a wink and sultry shimmy against his body. Vision nods, appreciation lifting his scowl back into a more neutral expression. “Good, and as for you,” Wanda turns towards the reporter, making sure her eyes flash red, “he’s the father and is a far greater man than you will ever be. Please put that word for word in your headline.” 

The dance floor is what Tony labels no-man’s-land on the diagrams of the ballroom for each event, a place where reporters are never positive if they are allowed enter and thus where people go when they are tired of the bombardment. As they twist and swing about the floor, Wanda knows the cameras follow them but it can’t stop her from laughing each time he attempts to twirl her or keep her from rubbing her hands along his back or stay her lips from stealing a kiss. During a slower song she feels the same fluttering from the day before, assuming it is merely the excitement of the night until it stops suddenly and picks up in a different spot. “Vizh, hold on.” She places a hand on his shoulder to stop their movement, grinning at his confusion while she presses her hand against her stomach. It feels like her pulse but firmer, a bit more erratic, almost like a butterfly inside her body trying to get out. 

“Wanda?”

“Here,” she leads his hand to her stomach, pushing his fingers down while staring at his face for a response. 

“I am uncertain what you are doing.”

The fluttering is gone now and seems to not be coming back. “I think I felt a kick.”

A blindingly bright light flashes next to their faces and Wanda blinks rapidly, bursts of reddish-purple dots floating in her vision as her eyes readjust. “Hi, Rebecca from the Times. Can you confirm that we just captured the first time you felt a kick?”

“I, um,” she looks for some guidance from his blue eyes but is only met with a confused, achingly slow blink. “Yes?”

“Score! Are the kicks more powerful given your inhuman abilities? Can your babies perform magic? What do you think their powers will be? Can you comment on what will happen if they are normal?”

Wanda freezes, eyes widening as she feels her lips smack together like a fish pulled from water. “I apologize but it appears my wife is exhibiting signs of nausea, please excuse us.” He whisks her from the floor, winding through the maze of passages that lead from the ballroom, phasing them in and out of walls to lose the trail of reporters, until they reach the back section of reserved private rooms for guests that wish to conduct certain business away from the crowds. Vision leaves her alone for a minute as he checks the rooms, quickly closing one of the doors with an apology. “It appears they are all occupied, would you like to leave?”

There is hope in his voice and a rigidness in his grasp that she hasn't experienced since the first charity event they attended. She remembers it vividly as it was the first time she'd ever seen him overwhelmed and she recalls physically dragging him by the hand (which happened to be the first time they'd held hands) as she helped him escape undetected. “Yeah, I'm good. Do you think the limo is here?”

“According to Pepper’s itinerary, no rides will be provided until 9.” He glances behind her head, frowning a bit more at what he sees. “Unfortunately it is only 8:30. I could fly us back?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

  
  
  
  
  


It takes Vision’s phasing abilities to get her out of the dress, but once free, Wanda finds she can breathe a little better and is thankful for the maternity clothes that act as essentially a second skin. When she exits the closet she finds her husband leaning against the headboard of their bed, tuxedo dissolved away to his secret bedroom only sweatpants, eyes distant, mind shuttered from her, and legs crossed at the ankle, a meandering turn of his irises a sign of careful contemplation. “Hey.” She slides up next to him, head falling at the right angle to snuggle into the crook of his neck and a relieved smile tugging at her cheeks when he wraps an arm around her. “You okay?”

“I am concerned.” She waits for him to continue, graduating from the Vision School of Excellence in Brooding has allowed her the foresight to take the interaction slow, silence the best agent to break the ice. When he remains quiet, hand frozen against her arm, she moves on to step two, lifting her fingers to trace his chest, years of practice granting her the ability to follow the pathways between his vibranium plates even when they are obscured by clothes. “Based on the initial stories, a substantial majority do not believe us.” The comment barely registers as sound, the reverberations of his words hover just long enough for her brain to make out what he said. 

“Some do.” 

“Most do not.” 

“So what?” Anger rises from the tips of her fingers and into her voice, tired of dealing with the constant insecurities and scrutiny. “They’ve written truly horrible things about us our entire relationship, some people tried to block our marriage license, even more protested outside the wedding, and you know what we did?” His body shifts a miniscule amount, fingers scrunching her sleeve and mind slowly unfolding to welcome her presence back. Wanda sits up, hands cupping his face so that her thumbs brush first against his lips before settling on the vibranium of his chin. The next comment is only spoken once he makes eye contact with her. “We just kept going, together. This is no different.”  

“But what if our children ever find the stories?” His voice is devoid of emotion which means he’s struggling to keep them in check, sliding into neutrality whenever he feels most defeated, “Will such debasement of our lives spread to them, will their own existence be scrutinized and abhorred as much as ours, as mine?” 

With a gentle tug his face moves, forehead coming to rest on hers, the Mindstone cool against her skin and her anger begins to dissipate. “We’ll be there to guide and protect them when needed. Plus,” Wanda places a kiss against his frown, “We’re pretty damn awesome which means our kids will be unstoppable, no matter what anyone else says.” Finally the right corner of his mouth quirks up, a wave of gold swooping through his mind as he thinks about the future. Wanda kisses him again, lips lingering, enticing his own to move against her mouth, and she curls her fingers into his skin, happy to have him back. “You know what always makes me feel better?”

Several images ripple across his mind, all of them acceptable possibilities but none zeroing in on her exact idea. “I would prefer if you told me as I fear guessing wrong.” One more quick peck and she crawls across the bed, opening the drawer of her nightstand and pulling out her stash of chocolate. A toss sends the bag careening through the air until it connects firmly with his chest, and she laughs as he picks up the bag, investigating it with worried lines puckering around the Minstone. “I,” Vision hesitates but she can read his clear and concerned thoughts.

“Yeah I know, I want to eat healthy and you’re afraid to tell me no.” Even though this hasn’t been the most pressing issue, Wanda found herself devoting a lot of time to brainstorming different ways she can eat healthier but still enjoy all the foods that sound delicious. “Confirm or deny this: you can actually eat.”

Vision’s face transforms slowly from confusion to apprehension, lips slanting down and eyes shifting between her and the chocolate, mind attempting to confirm whether this is yet another one of her traps that can only end poorly for him. “I can, technically.”

“Alright, tastebuds fully functional?”

The “Yes” is drawn out, voice vibrating slightly as his mind continues to assess the possible reason for the questioning. 

“Can you gain weight?”

“I-,” all suspicion flees from his face as his body snaps up a bit, genuine curiosity coursing through his mind as he seeks out the answer. “I do not know, we cancelled all future tests when it was determined I do not require sustenance to function.”

Wanda grins, flopping next to him on the bed and plucking a chocolate from the bag. “Here’s the plan,” gently she expands her powers in his mind, red tendrils reaching into the depths of his consciousness until they form what she likes to call mind voodoo and he insists on calling neural relay interface. Wanda rubs his arm, grin growing when she feels the touch on her own arm, experiencing it with him. “You eat this,” she hands him the chocolate, “and I get the pleasure without the weight gain.”

A skeptical gaze remains on her as he lifts the chocolate to his mouth, hesitantly nibbling the corner of the bar. The bitterness from the chocolate hits her tongue as he takes another bite and Wanda closes her eyes, allowing the ecstasy of the forbidden food to inundate her senses. “It is quite delicious.”

“Mmhmm, you should eat another.”

He reaches down and selects another piece, examining the lines of it and killing her with anticipation. “Did you know chocolate actually releases several neurotransmitters in the brain, including  phenylethlyamine,  serotonin, and dopamine, which means it can actually trigger an increase in mood.”

Eyes still closed, Wanda reaches up and pulls him down on the bed with her, kissing his cheek. “Which is why you should keeping eating the whole bag while we watch a movie and not check the news for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan.” Finally he eats another piece (followed by another and another after that) and Wanda grins, snuggling in close to his body and forgetting, for now, the stress from the past days. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so long, each chapter keeps getting longer and longer and I can't seem to stop myself. 
> 
> Unfortunately the next chapter won't be out for a couple weeks. All of next week I'm traveling to present research and then will have to come back and deal with being behind in all of my work. 
> 
>  
> 
> As always, hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)


	6. Spatial Concerns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vision begins to worry about the logistics of actually bringing the twins into their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:
> 
> 1\. My sincerest apologies for a slower update.  
> 2\. In return I've somehow managed to write an even longer chapter than the last one. I'm trying to rein myself in, I swear. 
> 
> Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy!

With a release of the button, the measuring tape rushes from its position against the wall, whooshing back into the plastic container where it loops around and around, and finishes with a satisfying click. Why it is so satisfying is an oddity to him, but he finds himself drawn to the noise, unable to stop himself from continuing to measure the room. He double checks his dimensional calculations against the detailed diagram he has been working on, deciding that perhaps this time he will approach the task from a 25 degree angle to see if anything changes. Carefully he pulls the measuring tape out, expertly balancing it so as to avoid it bending and ruining his measurement. Scarlet mist envelopes the end, pulling it the rest of the way across the room, and then the mist spreads to the entire apparatus, stealing it from his hands. “Vision.”

Vision turns towards the bed where Wanda is laying down, swollen feet propped up on a pillow, a book perched precariously on her stomach, and exasperation flickering across her eyes in waves of scarlet. “Yes, Wanda?”

“You’ve measured the entire room fifteen times, I don’t think it’s going to change.”

His hands seem unable to cope with her annoyance the most, fingers lacing and unlacing of their own accord as his mind stumbles to form a logical defense of his actions. “It is just,” the truth is he has no idea why it was necessary to measure the room so many times, there just seemed an underlying requirement to confirm he was not mistaken on each previous measurement. “The cribs will not fit in the room-”

“We don’t need two cribs, Vizh, so I’m sure the one will fit just fine.”

The matter-of-fact way she says this, coupled with her hands picking the book up from her stomach indicates that the conversation should move on, an apparent obvious solution presented. “But,” Vision is aware that the downward slant of her lips and the closing of the book means it is likely best to bring up the topic at another time, yet he finds his voice continuing,  “the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends babies sleep alone in a crib to reduce the risk of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. It is our duty as caring parents to follow these guidelines.”

The book floats to the nightstand as Wanda attempts to readjust her position, turning slightly towards him so they are making direct eye contact. “Pietro and I always slept in the same bed.”

“Anecdotal evidence should never trump scientific inquiry,” The red behind her eyes easily suggests this is not the best direction for the conversation.

“Vision this is one thing I’m not budging on.” Tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes, the liquid pooling until a blink of her eyes releases them down her face. “Listen, our boys have spent their entire existence together, I’m not separating them once they’re born.”

Whenever she employs tears he knows there is no method he can use to win the argument, and truthfully, he is not certain it is a topic he cares to insist on further. “Even if we use one crib, it would require removing the desk, my nightstand, and the armchair, so I wished to assess other possibilities.”

The ire dissolves from her eyes, lips softening into a sympathetic smile. “And those other possibilities are?”

“The primary suggestion would be to ask Sam to relocate to my old room and,” his body moves to the left, hand coming to pat the wall in emphasis of his suggestion, “remove this wall to create a larger, open floor plan.”

Wanda smirks at him, “Be honest, how much Property Brothers do you watch at night.”

“I do not see how that is relevant to the discussion.” The actual answer is that he records the marathons during the day and watches the episodes while she slumbers.

“Sure,” a wink accompanies her words and he feels his mouth responding with a guilty grin.

Vision keeps the conversation moving away from his potentially unhealthy television habits. “I have already inquired of Captain Rogers if we could perhaps convert one of the training rooms into a living quarters. Unfortunately he is firmly against the idea and made an excellent point about the amount of noise we would get from training and the very likely possibility of someone unintentionally knocking down the walls.”

“Yeah, I agree with him on that, but they have to sleep somewhere,” Wanda sighs in understanding, hand coming up to rub her stomach which usually indicates one of the babies is kicking. Vision glides back to the bed, sitting gently next to her so as not to offset the delicate balance of comfort she attained after a good ten minutes of fluffing and re-fluffing the pillows. Lightly he places a hand along her stomach, heart fluttering as he feels the rhythmic kicking against his hand. “Have they passed the kick test today?”

Wanda struggles to lift herself, eventually coming to sit up enough that she can place an adoring kiss along his jawline. “Yes, they’ve both passed it like ten times already, this one,” the kicking intensifies as she points at her stomach, a noticeable point at the side of her abdomen pulsing in time with the kicks, “probably a good twenty times over.”

“Are you sur-”

“Ah!” she claws at his arms, the following “help me!” demanding he push her up and then phase through the bed so he can position himself in front of her, pulling her arms until she is standing. “Sorry, be right back, the other one just started punching my bladder.” The first time this occurred, Vision paced outside the door, concerned over the sudden and intense change in her behavior. But with each successive time she rushes away, it seems to normalize, the sight of her scurrying to the bathroom now producing a bloom of contentment that nudges his mouth up into a soft smile.

Her return includes the hefting of a candy bar at his face, after a bit more than two months of serving as her official taster Vision catches it with ease, studying the wrapper to see what she has selected for today. “This one is delectable.”

“I know,” a hand to his chin draws his attention to her face, coquettish smirk beckoning him up for a kiss. “Apparently the glucose drink today is even worse than the last time.” Wanda sticks her tongue out in disgust, a slight shiver of revulsion at the memory. The last time she completed the test was a truly horrific morning. Wanda vomited from the first drink and he had to help (by doctor’s orders) force her to drink and keep down a second one. “I’m hoping if I go into the appointment with a pleasant taste in my mouth that maybe it won’t be so bad.”  

“It seems a promising hypothesis.” He grins as he feels her powers spread through his mind, connecting all aspects of their sensory systems together. Though they have been utilizing their neural relay interface for the majority of their relationship, he's found in the past months that it has become more than simply feeling closer to Wanda. Without the direct intention (he believes), Wanda has allowed him almost unfettered access to her body and experiences of being pregnant. His attention moving instantly to the feeling of tiny jabs in his stomach and an almost wavelike sensation that travels along the other side of his abdomen. Even though he knows nothing is actually kicking him or doing somersaults within his body, the amazement at the feeling leads his finger to poke gently at his own stomach, beaming when it seems as if the baby responds to the poke, the jabs intensifying around that area.  

“Vizh,” he looks up, mildly embarrassed at losing his focus, knowing that she feels him prodding at his stomach through their link. But then confusion overtakes his other emotions when he doesn’t see Wanda anymore, dissolving away when her head pops out from the closet. “I promise I was just joking the other night, you still have washboard abs.” A reassuring smile and a wink go along with the comment, falling quickly into a serious stare as she continues, “Now eat that Snickers, I have to leave in a few minutes.”

Expertly he unwraps the bar, taking a bite and making sure to savor it for as long as possible, having learned that Wanda enjoys allowing the chocolate to melt along his tongue before any chewing occurs. A muffled _mmmm_ comes out of the closet as he bites down, moving the food around so all flavors coat his tastebuds. Vision swallows, pausing before taking another bite to reaffirm her decision, “Are you sure you do not wish for me to accompany you?”

“Yep, I should be fine,” she finally exits the closet wearing a green sundress, sandals, and her hair in a bun. It is not her usual attire, though with the sweltering humidity of July it is becoming more common, but regardless he determines she is stunning no matter what she wears. “I’m just peeing in a cup and having blood work drawn once an hour for three hours. Seriously it’s going to be so boring. Plus, you have your meeting with Steve.”  

“I could reschedule.”

Annoyance flashes in her eyes again and he stands, hoping to mitigate her annoyance by stepping up to her and wrapping her in a gentle hug. “You’ve rescheduled this meeting once already.” Vision kisses the top of her head instead of correcting her on the fact this would be the third time the meeting has changed dates. “This isn’t going to get me to say yes.” A hand pushes against his chest, parting their bodies and he glances down to see a broad smile on her face. “I’ll be fine, seriously,” she brings her other hand to the back of his neck and pulls him down so their lips meet briefly. “Enjoy your meeting.”  Another kiss is pressed to his lips, this one lasting a touch longer and a bit hungrier than the last. “Love you.”

“I love you as well.”

“Good.” One last kiss and she pats his cheek before walking out the door.

  
  
  


The atmosphere in the conference room is not necessarily tense, but the obvious discomfort both of them feel at having to finally discuss face-to-face the issues they’ve been indirectly negotiating for the past two months thickens the air. “So, I’ve done my best to take into consideration the concerns you outlined in your requests and think this could work for everyone.”  

Steve slides a packet across the table, the front a simple contract that states that he agrees to the terms and conditions contained within. Hesitantly Vision flips to the first page, eyes roaming along the lines of legal language drawn up by the team’s attorney. Since the demise of S.H.I.E.L.D. the Avengers have functioned more-or-less independently, but that independence means that certain employment protections have not been negotiated or determined. Way back when the team first learned of their impending change in family structure, Wanda had easily negotiated terms of maternity leave, but when Vision raised the issue of paternity leave there was a collective sense of _oh shit_ , no policies existing or even thought of for such an occasion. Had Barton remained an active member of the team it would not be such uncharted territory. But with no predecessor to determine the rules and regulations of time off post-baby, Vision found himself writing memo after memo outlining the policies common in both the United States and (the even more generous policies) in other countries as well as a review of the extant literature on the benefits of parental leave not only on the children but on parental well-being as well. “Three months does not seem like enough time.”

A large inhale and echoing exhale meets his words, Steve nodding mutely along to his comment. “If you read it closely,” Vision does not appreciate the implication that he did not read it closely but determines that it is not worth arguing over semantics, “it’s really more like the six months you requested. Three months you are completely off the roster, we won’t call you for any missions, won’t even require training, well unless-”

“The world is ending?”

Steve flashes him a uneasy smile, “Yeah, if the world is ending we’d need your help. After that, the next three months you’re on reserve. We’ll only use you for missions that absolutely require your skills. After those three months then you’re fully back in the rotation. I spoke with the team and Clint to make sure this would seem fair.”

“What is this sixth page? It appears to be a lengthy list of missions.”

“Um yeah,” the air thickens more as Steve flips his own copy to the page, finger pointing at the letters as he talks, “since you’ll be underutilized for so long, the team felt that perhaps you could put in some extra work pre-” he pauses, mouth forming a thin line of contemplation for the best term, “birth to offset the increased workload we’ll be taking on with you and Wanda out.”

Vision nods, annoyed at the suggestion yet he is not sure why exactly since it is the most logical and parsimonious solution. But then his mind begins to reel at the thought of all the things he and Wanda have yet to prepare for the twins, such a place for the babies to sleep, clothing, names, feeding, baby-proofing, a birth plan, a hospital visit, birthing classes and the list continues to unravel in his head, now waltzing with the page long list of missions he is expected to also complete in the same timeframe. Yet he knows where they started back when he first brought up his leave and cannot deny this is a marked improvement, at some point he has to accept it. “I understand.” His eyes take in the list one more time, comparing it to their calendar of appointments, Wanda soon needing to start going weekly to the doctor instead of the bi-weekly they are at now. “Thursday is not available for me, Wanda and I are touring the hospital that day.”

“Yeah I know, so I figure you two can do that mission after your tour. Just setting up some reconnaissance measures, nothing dangerous.”

It appears, on his second time through the packet there is no additional room for negotiation beyond what he has already achieved, which for some reason creates a sense of unease and helplessness. “Is Wanda expected to go on further missions?”

Steve drops the packet, leaning back in his chair, relief at no apparent insurgence pulling his hands into a more casual position on the table. “No, just figured she could help with that one. She’s off the roster for pretty much all missions until, well, she’ll go on reserve six months after the babies arrive and will be fully on the roster after a year. So, she’s got some time.”

“Excellent.” Vision reads over the packet three more times, making sure to identify any loopholes or impossible dates, but finds nothing concerning. The front page requires six initialed agreements (he almost forgets to put _VM_ instead of his old _V_ ) and one final signature. “I think it is quite agreeable. Thank you for your efforts and support.”

“Anytime,” Vision produces a polite smile before phasing through his chair to stand, stopping as Steve’s voice reaches him. “I know I’m not much help on the whole baby front but if you need anything, I’m here.”

“Thank you.” The offer to help doesn’t quite hit Vision until he is halfway out of the room, and though Wanda had not provided an answer, he figures asking can’t hurt anything. So Vision leans back into the room. “Captain Rogers?” The man looks up, eyes weary and a somewhat forced smile on his face. “I have been measuring our living quarters this morning and found they are inadequate to house the additional furniture we will need for the twins. Do you believe Sam would be amenable to switching rooms so Wanda and I could construct a larger living quarters?”

Silence meets his question and Vision wonders if he phrased his question incorrectly, preparing to rephrase and elaborate on his plans. “I think that’s unnecessary.”

“Oh. Very well, thank you.”  
  
  
  


“Welcome!” Their tour guide throws open the door to their specially constructed labor and delivery room, arms spreading out to the side and spinning to emphasize the new space. Wanda attempts to hide a laugh in her hand as she walks in, their entire tour so far being focused on their guide’s love and obsession with the Avengers, including asking them about what they all do in their downtime, is Natasha really as terrifyingly sexy in person, could she actually kill someone with her pinky, is Rhodes just a wannabe Iron Man, and what underwear does Captain Rogers prefer (the tour guide guesses boxer briefs and is saddened when they don’t know the answer).  “Come in, come in.”

Vision follows his wife in, eyes taking in the pristine white floor and shiny, brand new equipment. In the center of the room is a (he assumes) typical hospital bed, crisp white sheets, two fluffy pillows, and adjustable railings along the side. At the foot of the bed are stirrups similar to the ones at Dr. Wadan’s office though with far more padding and reinforcement. To the right of the bed is a small sitting area with a loveseat and armchair, and to the left is a strange contraption. “Can I use the bathroom?” He glances over to see Wanda next to the guide, pointing at the door

“Yes of course.” With Wanda gone, he refocuses his attention on the contraption, slowly approaching it. The foundation of the thing is a small, baby-sized bed, which obviously makes sense given the purpose of the room. But rising up above the bed is a board with several switches and buttons, culminating in what appears to be some sort of heat lamp. “That’s for getting their vital signs and information."

Vision nods, hand lifting to trace the edges of the plastic walls along the bed, trying to imagine a baby inside. “What is the purpose of the lamp?”

The tour guide stands next to him and there is an unmistakable feeling that she wants to put a friendly arm around his shoulder, so he scoots a few inches away from her. “It’s just a heat lamp. Babies are used to their warm, calm environment and then bam!” her hands shoot out in front of her, mimicking a small explosion, “they come into this cold, loud, frightening world. So that’s to help them maintain their body temperature until they can have skin-to-skin time with mom.”

“What’s this?” A hand trails along his back as Wanda joins them.

“It is a heated bed meant for assessing weight, height, and vital signs post-birth.”

Wanda reaches out, running her fingers along the plastic walls just as he did. “It’s so small.” Her other hand leaves his back and rests on the side of her stomach, rubbing in a soothing pattern. 

The guide smiles, squaring up her shoulders in preparation of the her next words. “Now I was instructed that we have to test the room, Stark Industries made it specially for you.”

“What do you mean?” Vision can feel the tension build in Wanda’s shoulders at the comment, a very faint undertone of red rising up in her hand at the mention of Stark’s association with their room.

“Well, you’re really the first superpowered parents we’ve had at the hospital. So they built this room to withstand any, you know, surges of power that might happen with contractions.”

Wanda narrows her eyes, glancing around the room to identify what features make this room any different from the twenty they walked past on the way to it. Carefully she lifts a hand and flexes her fingers, red dancing menacingly along the surface of her skin. “So you want me to just try and ruin it?”

For a moment the guide seems slightly afraid, but instead of giving in simply stands up straighter and smiles. “Yep, this room is on its own three generator system to make sure no equipment gets knocked out here and that it won’t impact the rest of the hospital. The walls and equipment have been reinforced with some sciency material, and the windows are supposed to be able to withstand anything.” The guide trots to the door, shutting it and then squishing herself against the wall. “Give it all you got!”

They glance at each other, Wanda’s eyebrows raised in a question and Vision answers with a wave of his hand indicating that she should do as instructed.  With a shrug, Wanda lifts her hands, the scarlet energy expanding out into a orb that wraps around her entire body. A gentle, calming exhale centers her energy and then she flicks both wrists fifteen degrees up sending the scarlet orb to the other side of the room where it explodes. “Huh,” a dangerous grin lifts Wanda’s lips as she takes in the room, the only change being an unmade bed and the pillows from the couch falling to the floor. “How long do you think Stark has had this technology?”

“I believe,” Vision steps up beside her, fingers interlacing with her own and lifting her hand to his lips, taming the red that still pulses along her skin, “it is best to not dwell on such thoughts.”

“You’re probably right.”

From the corner of the room comes a “That was awesome!” and it brings a surprisingly satisfied smirk to Wanda’s face. “Any other questions you two?”

“I don’t think so.” Wanda continues to hold his hand as they follow the guide down the hallway leading to their separate entrance, likely lined with the same Stark technology that protects their room.

The guide stops them before the door, ridiculously large grin gracing her lips as she bounces on the balls of her feet. “Alright, so this is where we started, don’t forget that you’ll come through this door on the big day. If you think of any other questions, here’s my card and,” she pulls out a pen and jots down information on the back of the business card, “and my cell phone and personal email, you know, just in case you need to get in touch.”

Vision takes the card with a quick, “Thank you,” and leads Wanda out to the car, opening the passenger side door and helping her into her seat. A glance down confirms that her feet are already quite swollen, the straps of her sandals digging into the skin. “Are you certain you wish to keep going, we can head back to the compound if you are too tired.”

Annoyance flares up as scarlet waves in her eyes, “Yes I’m certain, you don’t have to keep asking.” With a resolute nod he closes her door and phases through the car to the driver’s seat. Driving has been an adjustment the past couple of weeks, throughout the years they have known each other, Wanda has always insisted on driving, a demand he has been more than happy to acquiesce. However, the closer they get to the due date, the more difficult it is for Wanda to fit comfortably behind the wheel and so Vision has found himself driving a car more frequently (apparently flying them everywhere is not approved by the PR team, especially once the babies arrive) and has discovered he much prefers being the passenger. “So what is this mission we’re going on?”

“From my understanding we are simply setting up cameras for later surveillance.”

An exasperated sigh greets his words. “So the first mission I get to go on in what, like five months, and it's surveillance setup? I bet I’m going to have to do the surveillance too.”

This topic is one that has led to contentious conversations, Wanda quick to point out his lack of speaking up on her behalf to allow her on more dangerous missions, and so he resolves to use whatever tactics to alleviate the rising ire coming from the passenger seat. “I believe all familial names are accounted for now, I just heard back from the Sokovian historian to confirm a few more.”

Immediately the feeling in the car switches, her hand coming to rest on his bicep with an excited squeeze. “Yeah? So what’s the list now?”

“From your side there is Django, William, Max, Erich, Jakob, Mateo, and Pietro,” Vision briefly glances to take in her neutral yet contemplative expression. “From my side the possibilities are Anthony, Bruce, Howard, Isaac, Thomas, Thor, Odin, and Edwin. Additionally we could consider the team family and add in Samuel, James, Scott, Steven, Clint, and Helen mentioned that Amadeus is her favorite boy’s name.”

A _hmm_ vibrates in her throat as she shifts her body to lean against the window. “I’m saying no to anything Stark related, so drop Anthony, Howard, and Edwin, and yes I know Edwin was a good man.” This is not the first nor twentieth time they’ve had this conversation, yet this is the first time that she has suggested officially crossing off names, which is progress.“Thor and Odin are too grand, and honestly, I don’t think I want to use Pietro.”

“That is acceptable, we can remove all of those from the list, though I still contend that Edwin is an upstanding name.”  Wanda shakes her head, smirking in disbelief at his continued insistence. “I have read that it is traditional to name twins in a matching sense, so as to carry on throughout their lives a sense of camaraderie and closeness.”

Though he keeps his eyes on the road, the silence next to him pulses with consideration, her powers always just barely skimming his own mind to allow a constant source of unity between them. He can feel the way she tests out names, the pressure of the tip of her tongue against her teeth as she rehearses Thomas, the kiss of her lips when she pronounces Max, and the rush air between her teeth with Isaac. “I don't want them to completely match, perhaps very different full names and matching with their nicknames.” Wanda reconsiders the list, picking up the names and dropping them until one seems to represent the ideal presentation of her suggestion. “For instance, Thomas could be Tom or Tommy.”

“And Edwin could be Ed or Eddy.”

“Edwin is never going to happen, Vizh.”

Briefly he takes his eyes off the road (at a red light) to watch the smile dance across her mouth and reciprocates it back. “Thomas is acceptable, did you know it means twin?” A sound escapes her lips, one that implies she did not know but does find the information interesting.  “So would another option be William, meaning strong-willed warrior? Will or,” Vision hesitates, unused to producing nicknames for other people. Though Wanda calls him Vizh, he does not shorten anyone else’s name other than Tony. The only option he has in mind sounds awkward as he says it, “Willy?”

Wanda laughs, hand coming to rest reassuringly against his arm while her other one holds her stomach as it moves of its own accord with each staccato of her glee. “I think Billy would be a better option, I don’t think I could walk around yelling Willy everywhere. But yes, that is definitely a possible name.”

Before he can attempt to produce more questionable nicknames, they arrive at a warehouse nestled in amongst a cluster of run-down buildings. Vision turns off the car and phases through to the other side, opening the door and expertly hoisting Wanda up out of the seat, hands remaining along her side as she steadies herself. “If you need to sit down or leave, please let me know.”

A roll of her eyes and a quick peck to his cheek confirms she understands but has no intention of sitting anything out. “So what’s the deal with this place, underground Hydra, mob, ninjas?”

Vision removes a box of equipment from the trunk of the car, keeping his pace even and slow as they walk towards the building so that he does not lose Wanda or tire her out. “Based on the intel it is only linked to alleged organized crime, the specifics of which need to be determined.”

“Hence the cameras.”

“Precisely.” Once they enter the warehouse, Wanda sweeps the left side of the building and Vision takes the right, though he flies high enough to keep her in sight the entire time. There is an excitement to her step and he can’t help but smile at the endearing way she over-utilizes her powers to open doors and lift furniture and machinery. A tiny pit of guilt forms in his stomach at the realization of how sequestered she has been in the compound simply because she is pregnant and the fact that he himself has participated in her confinement. Perhaps he will suggest to Steve that Wanda joins more of his surveillance missions. Vision reaches the end of his side, content with the ample locations identified for the cameras that offer the best overall views of the warehouse, and he flies back down to Wanda. “Shall I place the cameras and you make sure they function appropriately?”

Wanda nods, grabbing the handheld receiver from the box as he hovers around the warehouse with the cameras, always amazed at how small they are able to make them. This particular model less than half the length of his palm. A creaking sound echoes down below as the door to the warehouse opens and four men enter. Vision immediately descends to Wanda, who is glowing a faint scarlet. “Vision, any idea who these guys are?”

“Unfortunately not, we should proceed to the other exit.” Which would work except another group of people enter through that door as well.

“Or,” Wanda grabs his hand, a devilish smile making him truly uncomfortable, “we could just do what we do best.”

Vision glances between the two groups of people, gauging the presence of weapons and any potential signs of powers. A sidewise move of his eyes confirms that Wanda is buzzing with energy and despite just resolving to bring her along on more missions, this scenario was never the intention.  “Wanda I believe it best to allow me to phase us out of here.” He reaches for her but finds that she has stepped out of his reach, hands and eyes glowing red.

“Come on, it’ll take like ten minutes and I won’t even get close.”

He is about to deny her this request and force her to phase with him and then a “Hey!” gets shouted from in front of them as the people finally take note that they are not alone. Wanda shoots him another smile before her hands erupt in red and he finds he has no other choice than to fight when she sideswipes the first three that run at them.

“Fine,” Wanda grins at him, the power brimming within her intoxicating and distracting. Swiftly he moves to hover between her and their assailants, body growing denser as he prepares for the coming onslaught. “But unlike you, I am not out of practice and will easily neutralize the threat in three minutes.”

“You’re on.” Though they have not trained in combat together or gone on missions in almost five and a half months, the fluidity and synchronization they had achieved prior to their unexpected pregnancy remains, Wanda filling the air with scarlet energy, blocking and throwing people towards Vision as he utilizes his phasing and density manipulation to render their assailants inactive. It only takes them four minutes to subdue the men, the final one falling unconscious on the ground after attempting to headbutt Vision at his densest.

“Wanda are you-” his worries words are cut off by the crush of her mouth to his, the pressure of her fingers exhilarating as she grips onto his sides.  Logically he is aware this is not the time nor place for such shows of affection; however Wanda has a supremely gifted ability to render him illogical with a single touch, and so he finds his fingers rising into her hair as she deepens the kiss, pushing him up against the wall behind them.

Abruptly it stops with an “Ah!” and her hand pressed urgently against the bottom curve of her stomach. The frenzied way she glances around the warehouse indicates her needs.

“Bathroom is to the left.”

  
  


It is a long, silent drive back to the compound, Wanda asleep in the seat next to him, snoring softly, feet (quite dangerously) placed up on the dashboard to help with the swelling, and hands cupped over her stomach. Vision considers remaining in the car, allowing her to sleep for as long as she likes, but then determines that a bed would likely be a more pleasant experience. Reluctantly he brings his hand to her face, tracing the edge of her cheek slowly so as to lull her out of her slumber. This never works alone, but he likes to believe it is a gentler method to kickstart her waking process, knowing full well that it will always end with having to shake her shoulders. “Wanda.” A muttered Sokovian curse and a turn of her head away from his hand pulls the edges of his mouth up. “Wanda, we are back at the compound.” He moves to lightly nudging her shoulder, occasionally giving it a soft shake followed by a louder, “Wanda.”

“Leave me alone.”

After three successive shakes of her shoulder fail to rouse her, Vision attempts a new tactic. “If you do not wake up, I will inform the Daily Bugle that our sons will be named Anthony and Edwin.”

Her eyes pop open into a glare. “That’s low, Maximoff.” A groan fills the car as she pushes herself into a seated position, legs slowly descending to the floor, and hands massaging her stomach. “We don’t have anything else today, right?”

“I do not believe so.”

“Good.” Wanda leans her head back, wincing as she stretches out her legs and rotates her ankles. “I just want to lay in bed and have you eat cookie dough.”

“That is quite agreeable with me, I might re-measure the room as well.”

“No you won’t.” With a great deal of difficulty, Wanda reaches for the door, hand gripping the handle and then falling away with a groan. “Vizh, can you help, I,” Vision watches as she flexes her fingers, concerned with the way her wedding ring appears to be cutting off circulation and the fact that her breath grows more labored with each movement she makes. Tears form in her eyes as she attempts to push the door again, a weak and defeated sob joining the the lines of water flowing down her face. Wanda throws her head back against the chair, frustration burgeoning from her body in a glow of scarlet. “I don’t,” the quiver in her voice breaks apart her sentence as she attempts to calm down, “think I can get out, everything's so swollen.”

Immediately he exits the car and opens her door, hands falling strategically, one under her arm and the other gripping her hand, as he prepares to lift her out of her seat. A quick scan of her body confirms her observation, her feet swollen to the point that all definition in her ankle is gone. “Ready?” A nod of agreement leads into a swift pull of his arms and a push from her body as she stands from the car, body careening into his as she steadies herself against his chest with deep breaths. “Would you prefer I carry you to the room and then collect food and water for you?”

“No,” an inflamed hand pats his chest, her head coming to lay against his shoulder and the remnants of her tears soaking into his polo, creating a chilled sensation along his skin. “No, I can make it to the kitchen.”

They walk at a sluggish pace, concern growing in his grip with each wince and whimper she gives as they continue down the hallway. As they pass their usual first stop, he halts to inquire her preference.  “Do you need to use the restroom?”

Wanda stares at the door, lips tightening as she rubs her stomach in contemplation. “I think I’m good for now.” Ten feet later she grips his arm, panicked tears pricking at her eyes. “I lied, let’s go back.”

After fifteen minutes they finally emerge from the hallway into the oddly darkened common space. A brief scan of his internal systems confirms that it is only three in the afternoon in the middle of July on a day when no missions are taking place. Yet their teammates are absent from the most used area and all of the windows are covered in haphazard window dressings. “Wanda?”

“Yeah, I agree, this is creepy.” A red light flares up around her hand, holding it aloft to faintly illuminate the rest of their path to the kitchen. Vision helps her sit in a chair (gently raising her feet to rest on another chair) before locating the light switch on the wall, not desiring to prepare her lunch and cookie dough in the dark. The bulbs begin to come alive, flickering several times until they burst forth with industrial white light.

Three things happen simultaneously when the lights turn on. First he notes how Wanda’s eyes widen in surprise, mouth mirroring the action as it forms an exaggerated O. Second, the light reveals their live-in teammates, along with Tony, Dr. Cho, Scott and his daughter, and the Barton clan, huddled and giggling near the couch. Third, a shout of “Surprise!” catches him off guard and his muscles immediately tense in preparation of a fight, mind focused solely on protecting Wanda from whatever is happening.

A disbelieving but enthusiastic “What the hell?!” from Wanda clears the haze of panic from his mind, his density dropping back to its normal register. Now that the common space is filled with light, the window coverings torn off at some point in the commotion, Vision begins to process exactly what is happening. Balloons tethered to several chairs bob and bump each other in the air, streamers of blue, gold, and scarlet twist together in low hanging swoops along the windows, and a banner is taped to the both sides of the doorway, stating _Two Peas in a Pod!_ accented with cartoonish drawings of peas. The table is filled with food, ranging from fruit and veggies, to what appear to be tiny baby carriages made from marshmallows and pretzels, pasta, chips, and a large tower of cupcakes, each one decorated with two green candies. Wanda’s voice cuts through his confusion, “Who did this?! I think you may have put Vision in shock.”

Sam raises his hand, a half-cocked smile and easy stance emphasizing the satisfied pride beaming from his body. “I’ll take the blame.”  Cautiously Vision joins the group, an attempted friendly smile on his face though the way Wanda rolls her eyes at him (and Rhodes shakes his head) suggests his smile is not as natural looking as he thinks, but regardless he keeps it on his face, unsure what other response is acceptable. Once he reaches Wanda, she laces her fingers through his, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

“Okay so here’s the plan for this shindig,” as Sam talks Natasha and Clint move around the room to indicate where everything is located, “we have plenty of food, drinks are in the fridge, I have several games planned, and then of course,” Clint and Natasha meet up at the table where Vision’s chess board usually sits. “Presents!” In place of the board is an impressive stack of wrapped boxes and gift bags with an assortment of colored tissue paper sticking out the top. “What’d you like to do first?”

Wanda pulls on his hand meeting his eyes with the question but all he can muster is a confused shake of his head, mind still processing their surroundings and matching the decor and enthusiasm to images of baby showers online. What is truly throwing him off, thoughts clouding his attentional capabilities enough that he is unsure the decision Wanda made, is that all the books suggested this was a primarily female oriented tradition, and thus he failed to research the normative response and actions required to function adequately in the setting. A paper is shoved against his chest, hand gripping the sheet in reflex, and more effort than he would like is expended on bringing the sheet out enough to read it.

“Okay everyone,” Sam’s voice booms from in front of him. “Hope you got your snacks because  we’re playing the first game. Whoever completes the most nursery rhymes correctly wins a prize. No phones, internet, or mind-reading. Got it?”

A chorus of _yeps_ signals the start of the game and Vision sits next to Wanda as he reads over the list. The first one starts with _Little Miss Muffet sat on her _______ eating her _____ and ______ . Vision glances up and finds everyone writing far more than he is, his mind desperately wishing to search the internet (an action that is completely second nature by now) and even finds his eyes trailing to Wanda’s paper for aid, which is already a quarter filled out. The next one he hopes is more readily accessible. _Little Jack Horner sat in his corner eating his _______ pie_ . He scribbles a hopeful _apple_ in the blank, and is comforted a bit when Wanda mumbles about the lack of Sokovian nursery rhymes.

Three times through the list and he has three answers written down, none of which he is certain is correct. When Sam yells time, Vision is in the middle of adding another answer, but dutifully stops mid-word. The answers are shouted out by various people (primarily Laura and the kids) and Vision discovers he only correctly guessed one, while the next lowest score (Tony) is a six. Despite his clear defeat, the smile on Wanda’s face brightens his mood, the party distracting her from her earlier pain.

The next game requires everyone to move to the couches, two large bins of balloons on either side of the coffee table and a stack of white cloths in the middle of the table next to a bowl of safety pins. “This one,” Clint takes over from Sam in announcing the game, “was Laura’s suggestion. The team with the most successfully diapered balloons wins. Wanda over here,” she removes her hand from his and walks to where Clint is pointing. “Vision, this way.” Hesitantly he steps to the opposite side of the table from Wanda, hands clasped as he awaits the rest of the divvying out. It becomes apparent that the teams have been pre-selected based on the skill level of the people in the room. Vision’s team consisting of Clint, Natasha, and Tony, while Wanda’s has Laura, Scott, and Steve (Helen elects to sit out, claiming babies have never been her thing and she’d kill all of the balloon babies in an instant).

The game is much more difficult than Vision imagined, each team member having to rotate through the task, switching out either once they have successfully diapered the balloon or unsuccessfully popped it. Based on the noise level and jeering, it is a close race, but he cannot chance getting distracted, having already popped three babies and resolving to save at least one before the time runs out. A sinking in his stomach occurs at the all-too-familiar sound of another popped balloon and he steps away with a sigh, eyes watching Clint in admiration as the man makes quick work of the diaper. “Tony! You can’t just kill it right away.” A faint shimmer of relief flits across his mind as he watches the other team get upset at Tony who walked up and just poked the balloon.

Tony tucks his hands in his pocket with a shrug, “Might as well make the inevitable death fast and painless.”  

A final tally reveals that Wanda’s team barely won with twelve balloons to their ten, from the sounds Laura is voted the most valuable player. With the game done Vision hurries to Wanda’s side, offering her his hand, which she takes with a smile. “Hey Maximoff, how’s it going?”

“I believe that-”

“Wanda, come here!” Desperation licks at his mind when Wanda is whisked away by Laura, an almost claustrophobic pressure closing in on him as he attempts to reconcile his bodily reaction to some mental construct that might explain his unease with the situation.

A hand tugs at his pants, and Vision first stares at empty air until his eyes wander down to Nathaniel beaming up at him with a book in his hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Barton.”

“Mr. Wishon.” It seems that the youngest Barton’s speech has only marginally improved since the last time he and Wanda visited the farm, but the boy’s formal bow (an action Vision taught him a year ago while babysitting for an evening) is still adorable. “Read?”

“Yes, of course.” Vision attempts to sit on the couch, but ends up on the floor where Nathaniel has plopped down with confidence and a sense of owning the room that Vision realizes he will never possess. Once on the ground the book is shoved into his hands and he studies it, a well-worn (and chewed) board book with a cow dancing with a chicken and a pig on the cover. He flips to the first page and adjusts his voice to his slightly deeper reading tone, attempting to set some sort of rhythm to the words as he reads. “Clap your hands, stomp your feet, everybody ready for a barnyard dance.”

The book is suddenly yanked from his hands and Nathaniel stands up, sticking his tongue out in disapproval. “No sanks, Uncle Scott better.” Vision watches in dismay as the kid runs away, immediately leaping onto Scott’s lap, whose voice fills the room as he begins to sing the book, standing up and twirling each kid around as they come to listen to the story.

“Vision.”

“Clint.”

“Come on, I could use your help with the grill.” Confusion rushes through his mind at the words, having never used the grill before he is unsure how much assistance he will be, but Vision stands and follows the man outside. “So,” based on the billow of smoke and the somewhat spicy aroma in the air the grill is functioning perfectly. “How are you doing?”

“I am fine.”

“Sure,” Vision watches mesmerized as Clint rotates the hotdogs and flips the hamburgers, double checking the vegetable skewers on the top rack to make sure nothing is burned. “I recognized your face in there, terrified, wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into, whether or not it's too late to back out.”

The description is not wholly inaccurate but the implication is one he does not wish to exude to anyone, “I would never abandon Wanda.”

“Woah woah, calm down, I know.” Regardless of their initial differences, Clint has, over time, become amiable to Vision, and the smile on his face as he leans against the rail suggests this had not changed. “Listen, I’ve been there. Up until Cooper I’d never had any experience with kids. Seriously, the first diaper I changed was his and I put it on backwards and was so afraid of making it too tight that I left enough of a gap in the legs that he peed all over Laura.” The man laughs at the memory, lips puckering into reminiscent defeat as he continues, “I’d survived Budapest, you know, and yet this tiny, wrinkly human terrified me more than a gun pressed to my forehead while wearing a vest of bombs controlled by someone else.”  Vision feels his shoulders relax a smidgen, turning to join Clint in leaning against the railing. “It’s normal to freak out, and trust me, the baby won’t pop, you’ll learn the nursery rhymes, and you will definitely figure out how to read their books.”

It is unsettling to know how closely he’d been watched so far, and yet it is also oddly calming to hear the words from someone other than Wanda. He whispers his next confession, “I do not believe I am capable of the exaggerated and uninhibited behavior that appears necessary for dealing with children.”

A _psh_ is pushed out at the same time Clint shrugs, opening the grill and flipping the food as he responds. “If you’re comparing yourself to the buffoon that is Scott Lang, yeah, you’ll never get there, no one can. But,” the grill closes, the piquant smoke dissipating away, “I’ve seen you try and fail at twirling Wanda on the dance floor so many times, hell you even laugh when it happens, so it’s possible. Plus, your kids won’t know any different and they’ll love the way you read to them because it's you. Just remember,” he stops to wave at someone inside, and when Vision looks up Wanda is standing near the door, a quizzical look on her face that dissolves into a smile when Vision waves at her. “As long as you have each other, the rest will work itself out. Just know sometimes it sucks, trust me, raising kids is a shitshow, literally sometimes just shit everywhere, and the thing is no one escapes without at some point wishing to be back at their Budapest. But you just dust off your ass and keep going, together, because most of the time it's pretty great.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime man, it’s nice to have another father around.”

Vision can feel his mouth tilt up into a commiserate smile, and he contemplates inquiring as to Clint’s carpentry skills and how he would suggest dealing with their living situation, but then the door slides open, Natasha’s head popping out long enough to say “Presents!”

For his birthday, Vision always insists on no gifts, though Wanda never listens. So it is near impossible for him to remain at ease as eleven pairs of eyes watch in anticipation as they unwrap the each and every gift. With each tear of wrapping paper and bunched up ball of tissue, their mound of baby products grows, including clothing, toys, eating utensils, a whale-shaped bathtub with a built in thermometer, several blankets of varying softness, and a serviceable stack of books. It is far more than Vision feels he can accept, unsure how to willingly let their team spend so much money on them. The last gift is a set of teddy bears, each wearing a cape and Wanda tears up as she thanks everyone.

“There’s um one more,” Tony stands from the couch, walking to one of the wingback chairs and pulling a cylinder from the space between the chair and the wall. “Here, it’s the least I could do for my,” the next words are choked out in either disgust, horror, or disbelief or the intermingling of the three, “grandchildren.”

Vision grabs the tube, easing the end off of it while Wanda leans into his shoulder, eyes trained on the opening as he pulls out a bundle of rolled up papers. Diligently he unrolls the papers, fingers beginning to tremble as the image on the top sheet forms. Wanda gasps next to him, hand gripping his arm tight. “Tony?”  A scarlet tendril finishes unrolling paper, revealing detailed blueprints of what appears to be a modest, two-story home. “This is, too much.”

A dismissive wave and scrunched face joins the helpful comment of  “I’m a billionaire, I have to be lavish with my gifts.”

Rhodes scoffs at the comment, “Then why’d I get a toaster last year?”

The two bicker at just out of range, everyone’s attention rotating back to the blueprints in VIsion’s lap. Sam steps up next to him, glancing at the set with an approving nod. “No need to keep plotting the takeover of my room now.”

A ripple of laughter and the exuberance on the faces around them confirms that Vision and Wanda were the only two in the room who had been kept ignorant of the plans. “Where is it?” Which is an excellent question and Vision is ecstatic that Wanda can seemingly function under the weight of the news.

“Just down the road, about a mile,” Natasha explains, “We figured you’d like to still be close but could use some space.”  


Vision traces the lines of the wrap-around porch on the drawing, easily imagining a set of rocking chairs facing the mountains. Someone asks when it will be ready, but he is so engrossed with studying the lines that he doesn’t hear the answer. Though the compound has been his place of residence since his birth, the only time he has ever used this word was in his vows, but now, as he feels Wanda lips on his cheek, the unmistakably wetness of the ever-present tears in her eyes, and the brush of excitement in her mind he cannot help but use it again. Home. A single word sweeps away the concerns of the past week and Vision smiles, turning to kiss Wanda. This is going to be their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on how well I can keep myself reined in there will be 1, maybe 2 more chapters. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading, hope you enjoyed it! Kudos and comments always appreciated.


	7. Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda attempts to enjoy the last weeks before her due date, but finds relaxation difficult.

It has been about a month since Wanda slept through the night, waking up at least three times each night to rush to the bathroom or rearrange the wall of pillows around her and between her legs. Just like all the other recent nights, her eyes pop open, groan escaping her mouth as she rocks to gain enough momentum to get out of the bed. Wanda considers, as she finally manages to sit up, that it is particularly cruel of her body to refuse to relish the last weeks of full sleep. Even with a husband who needs no sleep (who she realizes, as she bends forward to gather her breath, is oddly absent and being of no help at the present moment) she is fully aware that she’d feel far too guilty to just say  _ Thanks darling! _ and make him handle everything. Plus, being the planned food source for the boys means she’ll have to be at least somewhat conscious. 

Once she feels her lungs open up again, she places her feet on the cool, hardwood floors, hands braced along the edge of the bed, and heaves herself up with a groan and a stretch of her arms up, pulling her aching muscles taut, starting all the way in the balls of her feet and up to the tips of her fingers. Three steps forward and a curse flees her mouth before she can stop it, pain shooting up her shin. They moved into the house three days ago and she keeps forgetting that she hasn’t had time to learn to navigate without sight. A twitch of her fingers brings up an orb of red, illuminating the rest of her path to the bathroom. 

Now that her body seems content, her mind refuses to settle, thoughts careening around the ever-growing (never ever shrinking) list of all the preparations they need to complete in the next six weeks. Well, Vision insists in the next three weeks because he’s convinced there is no way she will make it to her due date, but his extended absences due to missions means nothing is being completed at a fast enough pace. Which is why she moves to the nursery first, wrist flicking the orb up into the air so that it travels ahead of her, allowing her hands the freedom to support her increasingly heavy stomach. A lazy, serpentine roll near her right hand brings a small tilt to her lips, the twin currently in residence on that side a restless sleeper. She wonders if that will persist once he’s out or if additional room to stretch will quell his motions. The roll turns into a push, the sensation of feet stretching her skin impossible to ever describe to anyone else beyond that it is both uncomfortable and yet awe-inspiring. “Shh, go back to sleep.” She rubs her palm into her skin, connecting briefly with his feet and smiling as the pressure ceases, for now. 

When she reaches the nursery she finds it darkened and empty, flicking the lights on to at least assess if he had recently been there. That afternoon they set up the crib, arranged and then rearranged the furniture about thirty times until Vision insisted on putting it back into the first formation, deeming the placement the most ideal for ease of movement and keeping the sun as far from the crib as possible. What they didn’t do earlier was install the monitor or set up the changing table or hang the shiny, silver stars from the ceiling. Yet all three are done which means Vision had been in here at some point. Wanda shuts the lights off, wandering back through the hallway, her scarlet orb always three steps ahead of her, and makes her way down the stairs, hand gripping the railing as she waddles down. 

All of the lights are off on the main level, no clear indication as to his whereabouts until she picks up on a tiny, almost unnoticeable golden glow out the back windows.  Cautiously she weaves around furniture until she makes it to the backdoor, turning the handle slowly and creeping out onto the wooden planks. The illumination of her powers allows her to identify Vision standing at the end of the deck, back hunched forward in a way that suggests he’s leaned with his forearms against the rail, and she can make out every line of vibranium on his body, drawing her eyes from his head, down his neck, looping around his shoulder blades, and along his back until she reaches his sweatpants. It’s one of her favorite sights in the whole world. Thankfully it did not take him long to accept their solitude and privacy, only a couple of joking comments from her until he was convinced he could safely just wear sweatpants and not be considered indecent. 

Silently  (or as silently as possible) she creeps up on him, certain he’s deep in thoughts to not have picked up on her heavy breathing or plodding steps. Once she reaches him, she trails a hand along his side. “Hey.” The subtle constriction of his muscles under her hand denotes his surprise, head turning to determine the interruption and his eyes wavering from shock, to concern, to curiosity, to happiness, until finally settling back on concern. 

He stands straight, turning towards her with his hands out, bringing his fingers to lightly grip her shoulders. “Wanda, are you okay?” 

“Yeah, just couldn’t sleep, how about you?”

Despite the lack of light outside, the new moon and absence of any street lighting near their home hindering her ability to fully see his face, she knows by the change in his grip and the shift of his body to the side that he is smirking, which means he’s about to be a smart ass. “I could not sleep either."

“Seriously, Vizh?” A half-proud, half-embarrassed laugh floats in the air above her, swirling with the early-August breeze until it is carried away from her. “What were you thinking about?”

“Just the future.” 

That’s all he says, dropping his hands from her shoulders and turning his body back towards the railing. Wanda knows the procedures required for late-night brooding, the silence and the rubbing of his back, but the more control her hormones have over her emotions the shorter her patience lasts. Particularly at three in the morning when she can feel herself needing to go to the bathroom again. “Anything in particular or are you just going to be all vague and secretive here?”

“I,” a heavy sigh precedes the snaking of his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him,  “am attempting to cope with the realness of everything.” 

“What does that mean?”

She stares hard at his face, the longer they stand in the utter darkness the more her eyes adjust, finally able to take in the melancholic drop of his lips and the fear gathering in creases under his eyes. “I feel,” another sigh and a bend of his neck betrays his unease with his thoughts, “could you simply look?”

The answer, of course, is yes she could. “No, I want to hear your voice.”

“Very well.” Silence settles around them as he ponders the words he wishes to use, free hand lifting and then falling back down every so often when he thinks he has it figured out. “It is...difficult to explain. You have been pregnant for so long and we have been entrenched in planning and preparing for so long, that it began to feel as if that was the extent of the experience. Yet soon our lives will shift dramatically and I fear the,” he pauses, fingers wiggling as if he’s trying to conjure the best term from the air, “romanticized societal views of starting a family mixed with the equally held societal beliefs that children are destroyers of lives and further emphasized by the fact that I lack a childhood experience, have ill-prepared me for what is to come.” Wanda is about to speak when he finishes his thought in a soft and trembling voice, one so low and ashamed had they not been surrounded by utter darkness and silence she thinks she would have missed it. “I fear I still do not know how to be a father.”

A long litany of his preparations races through her mind, images of the library of parenting books they have amassed, and the pages and pages of lists he has compiled for dealing with every new development in their children’s lives, and the hospital bag he already packed for her, and the baby-proofing he did on their first day in their house, and the hours long phone calls he has with Clint at least once a week, and the way he is always there to comfort and care for her -- all these things she would usually push into his mind to reiterate his worth and his abilities, and yet, none of it comes out when she speaks. Because now that he's said it, she can't help but agree. “I had a childhood and yet I don’t know how to be a mother either. Honestly, I’m pretty terrified.” Now that the words are out she finds herself needing to join him in leaning on the rail, uncertain if she is more relieved or concerned at the admission. 

“Wanda?” Tears form in her eyes, annoyance rising through her body at the fact that she can’t go more than ten minutes anymore without breaking down and crying, frustration boiling under her skin at the way she feels her body is betraying everything that ever made her her. Then his hands cup her face, guiding her to turn towards him, the glow of his gem lighting up his features, luminous blue irises clicking in a soothing pattern, and he brings her face to his, lips soft against her own as he passes along his relief at her confession. Wanda can’t help but melt into his body, ignoring the taste of salty tears that squeeze their way between their lips, instead focusing on the warmth of his hands along her cheek, the pressure of his mouth on her own, and the coolness of the vibranium of his chest as she closes the gap between their bodies. Reluctantly he pulls away, forehead resting against her own, “Wanda.”  He only continues when she opens her eyes, a flicker of a smile darting across his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Reverently his thumbs run along her cheeks, eyes ceasing to rotate. “For reminding me that I am never alone.”

Wanda finds herself crying harder, but decides perhaps the best remedy is to simply let it all out as she pulls him back to her, savoring the feel of his lips and the comfort of his body, knowing that there is no other person or being in all the multiverses she’d rather go through this terrifying experience with than him.

  
  
  


The next week flows by much the same way as all the others in recent memory, Vision required to pull his weight on missions which leaves Wanda alone and very bored. Luckily, whether out of their own good will or an ultimatum made by Vision (or likely both), she is visited daily by any teammates not on the current mission. She tried to walk to the compound for company, but that ended on her first attempt when Sam found her crying on the side of the road from pure exhaustion and her constantly swollen feet. 

Each teammate uses a different technique to help her pass the time. Natasha, though she has made Wanda swear not to relay the information, usually paints Wanda’s toenails (which Wanda has not had the luxury of reaching in a long time) while chatting about how Wanda’s feeling and what it’s like to be pregnant and whether or not she’d want to do this again. It is unexpected and Wanda is never quite sure if it is genuine or simply Natasha utilizing her spy-trained ability of slipping into a character to gather information. Either way, it is pleasant, having time to bond with the only other woman actively on the team.

Sam is the most productive on his visits, always arriving with an up-to-date to-do list. Yesterday they washed and folded all of the clothing, laughing at the content of the onesies, still favoring the one he got specifically for Vision that explains (with very clear wording and arrows) where the baby’s head, arms, and legs go.  The day before that he helped boil and then handwash the assortment of bottles and pacifiers they’d received at the baby shower and in packages from excited fans and acquaintances. Their conversations always focus on after the babies, on if they have picked the final names yet (apparently there is yet another betting pool on this one, though none of them are currently remotely close to the final choices), if they have figured out a sleep-wake cycle for the night yet, and if they have figured out a way to differentiate the twins. Sam suggests writing on the bottom of their feet.

Steve, well, Steve won’t let her do anything when he comes over, informing her that she should stay sitting down and not worry. There is an aura of guilt in his actions, despite the smile and jokes they share, and she is never sure what the guilt is exactly attached to, whether for her complete removal from the team early on in her pregnancy or perhaps the fact that they all have to help her because Vision is gone so much or if it is something else, something deeper. But she pushes the thoughts aside, knowing she will never delve into his mind to find out. So she has him move around the furniture (much to Vision’s chagrin as he had already laid out each room to his preference) and help her tend the lawn. 

Rhodes has surprised her the most. 

The doorbell rings, a pleasing four note chime and a yelled “Delivery!” means Rhodes is joining her. 

“Come in!” Wanda grins as Rhodes opens the door, arms filled with a stack of boxes. “Let me help.” Red tendrils wrap around the boxes, removing them from his arms and placing them on the coffee table in front of her. “What do you think it is today?”

Rhodes plops down on the couch next to her as his eyes study the packages. “Well, the other day Vision was going on and on about sensory toys so I’m guessing at least, what, like ten of those?” 

“I also made the mistake of mentioning to him that we were out of paprika, so I’m sure there’s a box of that here as well.” Whereas Wanda has coped with her downtime by cleaning the house (her nesting finally showing up one night where she re-washed every outfit five times and then cleaned the entire nursery three times) and reading on the porch swing, Vision has apparently become quite fond of his Amazon Prime membership, a new package (or six) arriving each day.

“Speaking of the hubs, I finally freaked him out.”

It has, unbeknownst to Wanda until recently, been a personal mission of Rhodes’ to sneak up on Vision, wishing to finally repay him for all the times he phased through the floor and startled Rhodes through the years. Many afternoons have been spent plotting the best methods and scenarios to achieve this feat. “Tell me everything.”

“Okay, so we were in Casablanca tracking down an arms dealer, stole some Stark Tech,” the affectionate sigh he gives at Tony losing more tech makes her laugh. “Anyway, long story short we tracked the lady down, Vision had just finished neutralizing the primary threat and was just standing there, you know, the way he does with his cape floating all heroically.” Yes, she knows, can even picture the way his suit hugs every muscle when his cape flows to the side. “Well I had this fallen beam in my hands, Steve had the dealer already with the authorities, and there was nothing else going on so I silenced my thrusters and crept over towards him. He still just stood there like…” Now Rhodes stands up, the subtle click of his leg braces emphasizing his movements as he spreads his legs and puffs out his chest, placing his hands on his hips as he raises his chin up to look seriously towards the kitchen. 

“Oh come on, Vizh never stands like that.”

“Hey my story.” She smiles, waving a hand for him to continue though she keeps the image in her head of how Vision was likely standing, simply staring ahead, arms hanging down at his side with just enough tension to keep his hands raised slightly above his hipbones. “Anyway he’s standing all like this and I fly up right behind him and go ‘Boom! You looking for this?!’ and throw the beam on the ground. His feet phased right through the floor.”

His pleased laughter fills the room and it feels wonderful to have laughter in the silent house. “Tell it again.” Which he does with glee, and as he goes through the story, adding in additional details that were lacking the first time, she considers why Rhodes has surprised her the most. See, all the others make the same comment each day, some variant of “Oh my, you’re about ready to pop!” and their eyes never stray too far from her stomach. She gets similar reactions whenever they go out to dinner or to the store, though luckily no one has touched her stomach yet, the ever-present threat of red around her fingers enough to stave off that particular desire. But Rhodes doesn’t even ask about the pregnancy, won’t acknowledge her condition unless she brings it up first, at which point he never comments or assumes her incapable of doing anything. She thinks it might be due to the fact that he understands, more than anyone else, the desire to not have physical constraints pointed out to him.

Rhodes finishes the story, flourishing his hands as he drops the invisible beam and Wanda smirks, “I still can’t believe you used that stupid line ag...ah.” The grin on Rhodes’ face falls as she grabs her stomach, teeth clenching as a tightness builds at the bottom of her stomach and crawls up to the top, squeezing so hard it is impossible to breath.

“Uh Wanda, what’s up?”

“I,” the tightness dissipates and she sucks in a breath. “I don’t know, it felt like,” her stomach constricts again, this time radiating the pain to her lower back as well and holding tight for several, painful seconds before loosening again. “It feels like someone is squeezing the life out of me.”

Without a second thought, Rhodes pulls out his phone and Wanda is certain he is calling Vision. “If it happens again, tell me when it starts and then when it stops, got it?”

Wanda nods her head, slowly inhaling and exhaling, her body tense with anticipation. “Start.” 

“Keep breathing, Wanda.”

She follows his instructions, right hand gripping the couch cushion while her left rubs at her stomach, hoping to ease the pain. “End.” 

“So, that was about fifteen seconds.” Which has to be a lie because it felt like an eternity. “Based on Vision’s protocol, contractions have to happen every two minutes for an hour before we go to the hospital.” The world around her suddenly stops as she takes in his words, panic rising in a scarlet wave through her body as her hands glow and her head shakes. He has to be wrong, Vision isn’t even returning until tomorrow and she’s only thirty five weeks along, she still has five more weeks. But then another contraction hits and she, unsurprisingly, starts crying.  “Wanda, do you want me to call him?”

“No, no,” because this isn’t happening, this isn’t going to be the day she has the babies, but she can’t say that to Rhodes, doesn’t know how to convey to him the reasons for her certainty. “Let’s just wait it out.” So they repeat the process for an excruciatingly long half hour until suddenly it all stops, her hands rest hesitantly on her body waiting for another contraction but all she feels is a punch to her diaphragm.  “I think we’re good.”

“Okay,” she notices a subtle tremble in his hand as he slides the phone back in his pocket, and it comforts her to know he was equally freaked out by the experience. “Listen, if you don’t mind, I may crash here tonight, just in case, you know.” 

“Sure.”

  
  
  


The next day Wanda receives a call early in the morning, after another restless night and having finally settled into a rough sleep, she’s groggy and disoriented as she answers with a gruff, “What?”

“I deeply apologize for waking you.” 

The gentle lilt of his voice chases away the haze of sleep, her mouth lifting in time with the widening of her eyes to take in the breathtakingly beautiful face on the screen. “What’s up, Maximoff? Are you on your way back yet?”

He hesitates, lips tightening as his eyes wander off to the side. “Actually, things have gone poorly here and Captain Rogers wishes me to stay a little while longer.”

“How much longer?”

“Only a couple hours, but it may hinder my ability to arrive in time to transport you to the appointment.” 

Anger roils through her mind, both at Steve for the unreasonable demand and Vision for going along with it. “You agreed to always be back for our appointments.”

“And I will be there, I swear Wanda, but I do not believe it is in the best interest of those involved on this mission for me to leave yet. I have already spoken to Rhodes and he has agreed to drive you.”

The logic is, of course, sound but she feels a dagger of resentment forming, preparing to use it to make him understand this is unacceptable. “Vision, I had contractions yesterday that Rhodes already dealt with, we had an agreement that you are always back in time.”

Surprise widens his eyes, and she realizes that she fell asleep before their nightly call, the information brand new to him. “I will,” a deafening blast is heard in the background, the air behind him glowing orange from an explosion and filling with smoke, and then the image cuts out. “Wanda, I must go but I will be there, I pro-.”  The sound cuts out next and she is left holding an eerily silent phone.

“Vizh?” Her fingers rush over the numbers, attempting to reconnect but is only met with an upsettingly calm  _ I’m sorry, the number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. _ “Vision?” Wanda drops the phone, heart beating so hard she can feel it in her mouth, a rapid, nauseating thumping as her thoughts scramble to make sense of what happened. Since he began his increased missions, Wanda had been keeping back irrational thoughts that surfaced every time he stepped onto the quinjet or ended a call with her. A persistent, nasty whisper in the back of her head of  _ What if something happens? What if he doesn’t make it? _ And it makes no sense, her husband probably the single most durable member of the team. She’s seen him take hits that would easily kill anyone else and merely wince and keep going. But what if he finally met someone who could harm him, what if he didn’t adjust his density, what if the Mindstone was taken or broken or cracked or harmed? All the what ifs form a whirlpool around her, guilt building at the fact that her first response isn’t to think about how grief stricken she’d be (though that is a very quick second response), but the first response to such thoughts, in conjunction with her hand on her stomach, is always a  _ I can’t do this alone _ . 

  
  


“Wanda, are you ready?”  The nurse touches her shoulder, drawing her attention up and Wanda attempts an unconvincing smile.

“Yeah, sorry.”

A gentle pat to her shoulder and an outstretched hand helps her up from the chair. Wanda follows the nurse, going through the motions of checking her weight and blood pressure, neither number standing out to her with her mind still shrouded in concern. “You’ll be in room 4 today.” Wanda nods, walking silently beside the nurse into the room. Once left alone she disrobes and puts on the hospital gown, struggling to climb onto the exam table, used to getting a helping push from Vision.

Dr. Wadan enters the room, usually she knocks before entering but Wanda figures that maybe she wasn’t paying enough attention to hear it. “Good afternoon, Wanda. How are you today?”

“I,” Wanda turns towards the smiling woman and resolves to push the fear and concern away long enough to focus on the twins. “I’ve been better.”

“Still swollen?” A lift of her, what she deems, unattractive cankle answers the question. “I would say yes, now the heat isn’t helping, my own feet are swollen too. Let’s see here,” the doctor approaches the bed, cold, dry hands checking Wanda’s ankles, fingers pressing into her skin as they watch it blanch and then go back to her normal skin tone. “How are the babies? Have they passed the kick test tod-

“Am I too late?”

“Dammit!” Dr. Wadan jumps back, hand rising to cover her chest and Wanda’s cheeks lift so rapidly that the smile instantly hurts her face as Vision walks through the wall. He’s still in his uniform, the acrid smell of chemicals and soot filling the room, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here now and she opens her arms, inviting him into a hug. An action he doesn’t hesitate to complete. “I am sorry,” his hands travel to her face as his eyes meet her own, sincere guilt shining in his eyes, “I made it as quickly as I could.”

“You’re good, we just started.”

The doctor coughs to gain their attention and Vision steps back, leaving her skin frigid and desiring his touch once more. “So, um, please don’t do that again.”

“Never, my sincerest apologies.”

“It’s okay, now Wanda,” Dr. Wadan turns back towards her. “From before, how’s it going? Have they passed their kick test today?”

The usual answer is a quick yes, both boys extremely active in the morning and easily surpassing the bare minimum of 10 kicks per hour, but this morning she had been preoccupied. “I do not know.” Wanda turns her attention inwards, attempting to feel out the movements that she’s become so used to that sometimes she only notices the most extreme kicks. But everything is oddly still. “I had contractions yesterday as well.”

“Hang tight.” The doctor leaves the room without explanation and Wanda feels her fingers parting as Vision grabs her hand, and they sit in silence until Dr. Wadan returns, several cloth bands in her hand.  “Just to be safe, I’d like to do a quick non-stress test, just to check on their movements.” Carefully the doctor helps Wanda roll up the robe and then she wraps the bands around Wanda’s stomach, glancing at readouts on a computer screen as she adjusts the bands so that the attached monitors fall in different places. “I’m going to have you stay just like that for about thirty minutes, we’re going to monitor three things. First and I guess second,” Wanda follows the point of the doctor’s finger as she indicates two monitors, “these are placed to pick up the heartbeats. I have separate readings for each one. Third,” she points to a band that is lower than the others, “This is to track contractions. Do you feel any right now?”

“No.”

“Really?”

Wanda glances down at her stomach but feels nothing and doesn’t see the same tightening and lifting from the day before. “No, why?”

“You’re having fairly regular contractions right now.” Dr. Wadan frowns at the readouts on the screen, finger tracing along with a line that went from flat to mountainous quickly. “I need to check your cervix so Dad,” Vision stands to attention eyes brimming with purpose as he awaits the command, “can you step aside for me? I promise you can grab her hand in just a minute.”  He moves without comment or complaint, eyes never leaving Wanda. “Okay,” the woman puts a latex glove on and smiles at Wanda as she moves her hand to her thigh, “I’m just going to check your cervix, so I’ll do the double tap on your thigh and then check, got it?” Wanda nods and appreciates that Dr. Wadan continues to talk through the process. “So I’m checking to see if your cervix is changing at all and based on what I’m feeling you’re about 65...70 percent effaced and dilated three centimeters already.” 

“What does that mean?” Vision rejoins her side once the doctor walks away to toss the glove in the trash and check the readouts again.

“So the closer you get to delivery the more the cervix changes. It has to efface or thin out and then dilate in order for labor to happen. It’s just a normal process to prepare the body.” Wanda stares down at her stomach, breathing out slowly at what she thinks is the implication. “I also felt a head, so one of the babies has already dropped and based on the readouts, I’m going to recommend bedrest for you.”

She glances at Vision and catches his contemplative gaze and the itch of worry pestering at his mind. “What are the guidelines of the bedrest?”

Wanda follows the doctor as she opens a cabinet and sifts through a stack of handouts until she finds the one that they need. Turning back towards them, she hands the paper to Wanda and smiles apologetically. “This is pretty common with twins and I want to reiterate that I’m not concerned yet. But basically I want you in bed almost 24/7, reclined or laying down, not sitting up. Obviously get up and go to the bathroom and take a shower, but we want to take as much pressure off your cervix as possible. The more you walk or stand the easier it is for gravity to keep pushing that head against your cervix. This can hopefully slow down the process, I want you to make it to at least 36 weeks, 37 is better, and 38 even better, we need their lungs to develop some more. Here’s some recommendations on positions and exercises to do in bed.” Wanda grabs the sheet and glances at it, the words blurring into the pictures and forming just a fuzzy ball of incomprehension.

“Are there other guidelines?”

Dr. Wadan turns towards Vision. “Yes, no sex or any sexual stimulation at all. Orgasms can lead to more contractions. Got it?” 

The seriousness in the line of his mouth and set of his eyes as he nods is ridiculous, the level of commitment in his simple answer of “Understood” the same as when Steve briefs them on a mission. 

  
  
  


Night one of bedrest is so far acceptable, Vision propped her up using ten different pillows, and her body feels like it's resting on clouds, none of the typical pressure points causing aches in her muscles. Yet she knows this will get old, can already feel the caged nervousness grow in her mind at being confined yet again. “I made you paprikash.”

Wanda shifts to turn towards the door, knocking five of her pillows on the ground, but the sight of Vision walking towards her with a bowl in his hands is wonderful enough to erase her concern at the lost pillows. “You trying to lift my spirits?”

A gentle smile graces his face as he passes her the bowl and sits on the bed next to her, eyes never straying from her as she sniffs at the food, hope blooming at the distinct, sweet and smoky aroma of paprika. Tentatively she takes a bite and sighs at the perfection of the taste (that only took him years to get right). “Spirits lifted?”

“Spirits lifted, thank you.” Wanda leans over to kiss him but finds him pulling away, concern marring the lines of his face as he studies her. “Vizh?”

“Dr. Wadan was very clear in her instructions.”

Red envelops the bowl, lifting it from her hands so that it hovers in the air as she turns just a bit more to the side to fully face him. “Maximoff, you’re good, but you’re not that good. It’s okay to kiss me, I promise I won’t go into labor.”

Reluctantly he moves a bit closer to her, eyes going blank, a sure sign of searching the internet for confirmation before he acts. A swift rotation of his irises to the left lets her know he’s satisfied with whatever he found and he scoots closer to her, brushing her lips with his own, which is not the degree of kiss she desired but she’ll take it for now.  “You are most welcome.” The bowl settles back into her hands. “I did speak with Captain Rogers and it was mutually agreed upon that it is in the best interests of all involved if I discontinue missions and instead focus my attention on remaining here with you.”

Wanda beams at him. “Spirits most definitely lifted.”

And now, they wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally lied in the last chapter. There was just going to be 2 chapters left, but then I can't have a story about pregnancy and only have 8 chapters. So, there are now 2 chapters left. Next time you'll get to meet the babies :)
> 
> As always, hope you enjoyed!!


	8. Meet the Maximoffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Vision finally meet their twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that this chapter does have some medical stuff that could be uncomfortable for some, I did my best to not make it too graphic, but, as with the rest of the story I didn't want to just ignore it. 
> 
> Also, there is some angst which I'll discuss in my note below. There is fluff too though, I promise.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It happened suddenly, or at least as suddenly as it can after eighteen days of mind numbing bed rest. 

Wanda in that time had been pretty certain she was dying, somehow, though the exact culprit was still to be determined. She mused that it might end up being the sweltering heat of late summer, the sticky air coating every inch of her in sweat despite the complicated system of box fans and ice packs Vision rigged up the week prior, or it could have been the muscle spasms and cramps of being confined in bed all day. Even with her daily exercises of calf raises, utilizing Vision’s body for resistance, and bicep curls with super light weights, Wanda’s certain she’s lost the majority of her muscle tone. Though given she has been unable to see her thighs or really her legs for two months she can’t confirm this, but it has been getting more difficult to hobble to the bathroom, tingly pins stabbing her muscles with each labored step. The bathroom was another potential death trap, the pressure of the twins, their tiny hands and feet pushing and morphing her bladder so that she has to go roughly every ten minutes. Vision insisted her fears were irrational, but she was wholly convinced one day her bladder would be so full that it would burst and kill her. But really, she always assumed the most likely culprit would be the boredom.  A lazy day here or there is always welcome, but by this point they’d played every board game, binged each new series on Netflix, watched so much HGTV that they’d seen the same episodes at least five times, and she even finally read the parenting books Vision had been leaving for her.

But she now realizes all of the discomfort from before was nothing compared to this moment, her knuckles whitening as she squeezes Vision’s hand. “Breathe, Wanda.” The world falls away as she sucks in a breath, attempting to focus on the coolness of the Mindstone against her forehead, Vision kneeling on the floor in front of her, the hand she’s gripping far denser than the rest of his body. The tightness finally breaks, skin softening and stomach dropping an inch as the pain dissipates. “Good job, that one was sixty five seconds.”

“When,” she sucks in another breath, thankful for a brief respite, “do we go in?”

Vision pulls his forehead from hers, eyes shifting to check her progress according to the app he downloaded. “According to Dr. Wadan’s instructions another five minutes, but-” she watches as he delicately swipes the screen, a series of numbers flashing too fast for her to process, “you are progressing in time between contractions, length and,” his fingers wiggle in her grip, “intensity of your contractions.”  

“So you think this is it?” Six days ago they rushed to the hospital after a thirty minute period of intense contractions, only to be turned away, Wanda simply laughed at the experience, a mixture of disappointment in having to remain in bed but also relief because she’s still unsure if she’s ready for the next stage. But Vision seemed mortified at being wrong, spending the time since then re-reading the books on labor to be completely certain they don’t make the mistake again. 

“Have you experienced any unusual mucous?”

Wanda brings her free hand to his face, thumb tracing the line along his cheek and following it down towards his chin. “Vizh, we agreed you would stop asking me about my bodily functions.” 

Guilt sends the gears in his eyes spinning, a tiny, remorseful smile drawing her in for a kiss. “My apologies.”

“I forgive y- Start.” The pain starts in her lower back, journeying around both sides of her abdomen, muscles tightening in a pathway from the bottom of her stomach all the way to the top. Wanda attempts to remain calm, breath catching as her muscles keep tightening and she worries whether it hurts the babies, a flurry of kicks pounding against the inside of her stomach in response to the contraction. “Okay, done.” 

“Eighty seconds and only sixty seconds between them.” Which she thinks should indicate that they need to leave, yet Vision remains kneeling, eyes soft and yet oddly playful. “You know, it has not escaped my attention that this corresponds to your one successful liberation attempt.” The skin around his eyes crinkle in time with the formation of an upward arc along his lips.  “All this just to steal a cupcake.”

Wanda bites her lip to keep from smiling, glaring hard at the pride emanating from the man in front of her. “Don’t you dare blame me for this, maybe if you had just agreed to let me join you on the porch to enjoy the,” Wanda sits up a bit straighter, waving her hand and altering her voice to develop a slightly British accent, “delightfully pleasant breeze,” 

“That is an abysmal impersonation.” 

She smirks, dropping back into a slouch. “Maybe if you’d just let me join you I wouldn’t have felt the need to,” another contraction grips her body, cutting off her words as she commences her death grip on his hand. As the pain rolls away, she finishes her thought, “sneak out of bed.” 

“Perhaps.” Vision kisses her forehead before standing, his hands nervously clasped in front of him and a subtle waver to his voice. “Shall we get ready?” 

  
  
  
  


The contractions only worsen as they drive to the hospital, each successive one longer and more intense than the previous. A quarter of the way into the drive a barely stifled yelp of pain forces Vision to break his driving rules, allowing her to hold his hand while he drives. When they park he doesn’t open the doors, mind racing and hands unable to remain still as he phases out of the car, hand appearing through the back door to grab the hospital bag that has been stationed in the vehicle for over a month now, and then he walks through the car to her side. Thankfully he actually opens her door and she smiles reassuringly up at him as she takes his  hand. “We’re good, Maximoff.”

An uneasy grin plays along his lips, faltering at her pained gasp and clenched teeth as she leans into him with another contraction. “Do you wish for me to carry-”

“No, I can walk.” 

“Very well,” but she still allows him to wrap an arm around her, thankful at the way he braces her weight to increase the ease of the long journey to their room. The first time they made this walk, back when they toured the hospital, it went quickly, but now the door seems the same distance away despite each laborious step she takes. 

Thankfully the check-in process is painless, having already submitted the admission paperwork and signed the consent for treatment forms, and they are immediately taken to their room. Wanda peels off her sweat soaked clothes, eyes following Vision as he moves to the couch and begins unpacking the items marked  _ For Labor _ from the bag, and slips into the open-backed hospital gown. A red cloud carries her clothes to Vision, who grabs them and shoves them into a gallon-sized ziploc bag before putting them in the duffel bag. “Vizh, can you help me?” 

“Of course.” Every item that had been in his hands drops back into the bag as he glides to her side, fingers moving along her arm and hip as he helps guide her into the bed, rearranging the pillows behind her and then aiding her in pulling the blanket up to cover her bare legs. “Anything else?”

“Can I get a kiss?” For a brief, beautiful moment his nervousness flies away, replaced by joy as he leans down to meet her lips. Wanda grips the collar of his polo to keep him there a bit longer, desperate to have one last normal moment before their lives change forever. “Vizh, I love you so much.”

“I love you as well, Wanda, and always will.” 

“Good.” She kisses him again, not stopping until the next contraction demands her attention. 

Dr. Wadan walks in several minutes later followed closely by a black-haired, smiling nurse. “Welcome back, this one for real?”

Wanda laughs, partially at the joke but more at the look of horror on VIsion’s face, his embarrassment palpable and stifling in the room. “We hope so.” 

Like the last time they were in this room, Dr. Wadan runs her hands along Wanda’s stomach, pressing down to feel the position of the babies, a nod of her head seeming to indicate things are okay there, and then she checks Wanda’s cervix, another nod and a smile confirming they likely are experiencing the real thing. “You’re actually six centimeters, I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.” Wanda sends a playful glare at Vision, who now looks doubly horrified at the information. “I’ll have McKayla here get you all setup for monitoring while we discuss some things.”  The nurse’s smile broadens as she walks up to Wanda, hands frigid as she pulls up the gown and begins strapping monitors to Wanda’s stomach, moving them around while watching a screen. “So Wanda,” the doctor’s voice draws her attention away from the movements of the nurse. “Couple things, one, do you still prefer to attempt a vaginal birth first?”

This discussion had been more heated than Wanda imagined it would be, after their last appointment they were sent home with literature on the risks of different birthing procedures for twins. Vision seemed convinced a C-section would be best but Wanda discovered an odd and surprisingly strong need to try first before agreeing to surgery. And so they went back and forth for several uncomfortable days, emotions not at all helped by being trapped in a bed. “Yeah, but if you ever say we need to change it, I’m okay with that too.”

“Good, I’ll have you sign this form agreeing to just that.” A clipboard is passed over her stomach and Wanda glances at the bolded words that reaffirm what she just said, so she signs it and hands it back. “Perfect, next,” Dr. Wadan stops talking as Wanda squeezes her eyes shut, a contraction sweeping suddenly across her abdomen and rendering her unable to pay attention to anything other than breathing and the hot tears rushing down her face. Once it stops she makes eye contact, hand lifting to wipe away the tears. “Good job Wanda, that one looked rough. So I know we discussed all the options and the decision is ultimately up to you, but I would like you to have an epidural, just in case something goes wrong and we need to move you to the OR.”

Vision walks to the side of the bed and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  “Okay.” 

“Great, I’ll place an order for it.”

Once the doctor leaves the nurse touches Wanda’s wrist, an overwhelming friendliness permeating the touch that comforts Wanda and makes her feel like maybe this won’t be so bad. “How’s it going?”

A loaded question, to say the least, Wanda’s mouth saying, “Good, a bit painful,” but her mind just now starting to realize the gravity of the situation, that whether they are ready or not, they’re soon going to be a family of four. 

“Excellent,” another friendly touch and her mind calms down again. Briefly she hopes that somehow the nurse has some superhuman power to calm people simply by touch and if she’d be willing to touch Vision’s hand to keep him from phasing his fingers in and out of her shoulder. “Let me explain everything, these two monitors,” they all follow her finger as it points to two, palm-sized blue monitors held to her stomach by a white band, “are assessing the heart rates of the babies, which you can follow on this screen.” All eyes move to the green lines going up and down in rhythmic patterns on the screen. “This other one is tracking your contractions, once you get used to the monitor you’ll be able to tell when one is coming. Like,” the nurse pulls a second screen closer, the line starting out flat and then slowing ascending, “you are about to have a contraction.”  Sure enough the pain engulfs her body, an intense pressure building on her pelvis and she’s certain this is what it must feel like to be crushed by a car. “And we’re done.” The line flattens back out. “What else,” the nurse walks to the board and writes her name in big, looping letters, followed by the time and a list of what they talked about, “yes, okay, other ground rules. No eating, especially since you are considered at increased risk of needing surgery, can’t have you eating anything. Also, you can’t drink water, but I’ll bring back a cup of ice, you can chew that. Whenever it starts to melt you’ll need to replace it.” This last comment is made to Vision and he nods in understanding. “Great, if you need anything else, just hit the call button.”

The room is still, the only noises the beeping of the monitors and the ragged, half full breaths as she recovers from the last contraction. Cool air hits her shoulder as Vision steps away, returning with a chair that he places next to the bed, sitting down and reaching out to grab her hand. Delicately he brushes his thumb along her skin, lips pursed in preparation to speak, but each time he intakes air, he blows it out instead of talking, eyes rotating counterclockwise as he tilts his head in thought. “It seems,” he hesitates, lips torn between lifting or tightening which leads to a minuscule smirk that could almost as easily be described as sneer, “this is happening.”

“Well, it’s not like they were going to stay in me forever.” The comment lands precisely as she hoped, the expression on his face sliding up into a real, albeit worried, smile. “You ready for this?” 

A shake of his head and a gentle, uneasy laugh joins his, “Not at all.” 

Her response is delayed by the next contraction, the line on the screen peaking higher than the last and she agrees, the pain slightly worse and traveling higher up her body than the last one. “Me,” she gasps as the pain grips her longer than the contraction itself, “neither.” Vision lifts her hand, kissing it gently. “Vizh, not to ruin the moment but,”

“Bathroom?”

“Yeah, how do you suppose I you know, go?” 

Vision stands and examines the complicated pattern of straps and equipment on her stomach, fingers pinching the clear hoses attached to the monitors and moving them to determine how it works. Hesitantly he unhooks a hose from one, eyes sliding to the screen, concern blooming in his head that some alarm will go off.  When nothing happens he shrugs and removes the other tubes. “I believe you are free to move now, I will reattach them when you get back.”

Which is easier said than done because once Wanda waddles back, a boost of power aiding Vision in helping her into the bed, and the monitor tubes are reattached all the screens show flatlines. “Um, what did you do?”

“I,” he detaches the tubes again and then reattaches them several times, “do not know, perhaps you should call the nurse back?”

Wanda pushes the red call button on the bed, but can’t seem to stop her mind from racing, concern blossoming at the lack of movement on the screens. And it really makes no sense, an hour before this she didn’t even have a monitor and yet she was confident everything was okay. But now she worries that something might be wrong and for some reason the nurse is taking forever. Though it should be a comfort, Wanda grows more concerned as she can feel the reciprocated thoughts from Vision’s mind, their neural link still present though she has been doing her best to keep him only in her thoughts, not wanting to subject him to the contractions. Then an idea forms, maybe in her mind or perhaps in Vision’s, worry always clouding the thin line that already exists in differentiating their thoughts. 

Wanda brings a hand to her stomach, scarlet energy rising from her skin as she closes her eyes and directs her powers inwards, guiding it with her mind as she seeks out the twins. Suddenly it emerges, the presence of two unmistakably electric and vibrant minds, and she proceeds hesitantly, reaching out with her powers to brush against each one, heart bursting when she feels them respond to her, as if they know her already. A slight twitch of her finger secures the link and it is unlike anything she has ever felt, no solid thoughts or images but a serene sense of calm floating around and an experience of comfort and warmth.  “Vision can you feel that?”  

“Is that?”

“Yeah.”  He gasps beside her, the sound of him sitting in his chair and the grip of his hand around her fingers emphasize the awe that spills from his mind, thoughts surprisingly untamed but slowly focusing into one brilliant golden wave of love that he pushes not just to her but through the link as well. 

A voice breaks their concentration, Vision’s mind becoming focused elsewhere and severing his link to the babies, but Wanda latches on, maintaining a surface level link as a way to monitor them. “Um, sorry to interrupt, I brought you ice and let me fix that.” The nurse reaches down, adjusting the monitors until the lines come alive again, just in time to inform Wanda of another contraction. 

  
  


The epidural is placed about thirty minutes later, an uncomfortable experience involving the intense sting of numbing medicine and a needle inserted into her spine, but once the (surprisingly cold) medicine starts to trickle into her back, the contractions become more bearable, not completely painless, but only because Wanda decides to keep the epidural at a low level. Most exciting, sadly, is the fact that the epidural also means a catheter and she no longer has to worry about getting up and going to the bathroom. 

Nothing much happens for hours, the nurse coming in every thirty minutes to check on them, the doctor roughly every hour and a half to measure her cervix, which is not dilating as fast as everyone hoped, but is still progressing. 

The world around them is calm and it worries Wanda. She watches as Vision steps out of the room to refill her ice cup, the fifth time this hour, his own nerves manifesting into a singular focus on making sure she never gets to touch a drop of water. With the brief alone time she attempts to identify the source of the worry. The twins are fine, their heart rates strong and the connection she formed with them still transmitting their fuzzy and wordless thoughts. The entire team has been informed of their progress, Wanda texted them on the way to the hospital and has enjoyed the well-wishes and pictures they’ve sent, Sam taking covert pictures of Steve pacing nervously, brows furrowed in apprehension. 

“Do you need anything?” She shakes her head, reaching out her hand, smiling as Vision takes it and sits on the edge of the bed. A soft upturn of his mouth and his finger gently caressing her face creates butterflies in her stomach, constantly amazed at how he still does that to her after so many years. “You are beautiful.” 

Warmth spreads up her neck and into her cheeks, her eyes rolling in an attempt to downplay the moment and the fact she can feel water already building in the corners of her eyes. “Shut up, I saw myself in the mirror earlier and you can literally watch me pee right now.” 

The mattress on the bed dips as he shifts his weight, lips brushing against her hairline and then pressing against her cheek. “You are always beautiful.”

They resume their vigil, trading off between reading, playing cards,and watching tv, never discussing what tomorrow will bring, an understanding settling between them that perhaps they savor this time to just be them for one final day.  

  
  
  


Everything changes at hour eight, Dr. Wadan snapping a new latex glove on as she checks Wanda before staring seriously at them. “Okay Wanda, here’s the plan. You’re currently nine and a half centimeters, just need to get you to ten. So what I’m going to do is break your water. I’ll be back in ten minutes and then you’ll likely be pushing. Sound good?”

Wanda considers the words, glancing at Vision to gauge his reaction which is simply a neutral expression masking the growing nervousness in his eyes. “Okay, let’s do it.”

It is an odd sensation, likely diluted by the low dose epidural, but there is pressure between her legs and then a rush of fluid that coats her thighs and soaks into the towel the doctor had helpfully placed under her before proceeding. Unlike when she lost control of her bladder the week before, this sensation doesn’t stop, an uncomfortable feeling of leaking constantly. And then a contraction hits, far more intense than any of the ones before, so strong and painful that the epidural does nothing and she hears a startled, pained groan next to her. Her head swivels at the noise, taking in Vision with his teeth clenched, eyes shut, and hand pressed tightly to his stomach as he falls back into the chair. The contraction passes and Wanda reaches out to her husband, “Vizh? I’m sorry I forgot to block it.” 

“It’s,” his breathing is heavy, chest heaving and irises swirling so quickly it makes her dizzy to watch, “okay. Is that,” slowly he composes himself, proudly straightening his vertebrae until he resumes his typical proper posture, “how they have all felt?”

“Pretty much, though that one was particularly bad.” 

One curt nod is his response as he grabs the ice cup and offers it to her, taking it back when the next contraction hits only seconds later. For the next horribly long ten minutes it continues the same, increasingly strong, pelvic crushing contractions one after another. Her hand shaking, Wanda presses the button to increase the epidural medicine, sighing in relief when the pain lessens slightly. 

Dr. Wadan returns to the room, this time instead of wearing her normal clothes and white coat, she is decked out in blue scrubs, hair pulled back and covered by a blue hat, heavy duty latex gloves on her hands. Trailing behind her is their nurse and three more, each one smiling but with focused, serious eyes as the doctor places them around the room. Dr. Wadan turns towards Vision, “Dad.” 

“Yes?”

“How involved in this do you want to be?”

Vision’s mouth drops open, body frozen with the ice cup in his hand, his eyes the only thing moving as he stares at Wanda. She gives him an unhelpful shrug, sending a  _ whatever you want _ into his head. “As involved as I can be.”

The doctor grins, beckoning him towards her with a wave of her hand. “I’m going to have you right here. Whenever you see a contraction coming, I want you to grab her foot and lift it up like this,” Wanda can feel the latex gloves on her foot, raising it up so that her thigh is perpendicular to the bed and her calf parallel, her knee bent at an almost ninety degree angle. “You have to hold her foot steady and let her push as hard as she wants against you, got it.” 

“Understood.”

“Excellent,” Doctor Wadan pats his shoulder reassuringly before taking her place at the end of the bed, positioned between Wanda’s legs. “Wanda, when I say push I want you to relax your body as much as possible and really focus on pushing low. Excuse my crassness, but it’s going to feel like you’re having the biggest, most difficult shit of your life. Feel free to grab the rails and use their,” she points to Vision and the nurse at her other foot, hands positioned much like flight attendant explaining where the exits are on the plane, “strength and resistance to help push. You ready?”

The answer is still a no but there isn’t any other option. “Yep.” 

All eyes in the room are focused on the screen tracking her contractions, anticipation thick in the air, building and building until the line begins to slope upwards and she can feel the tightening in her pelvis. “Wanda,” she zeros her attention in on Doctor Wadan, noticing for the first time the slight gold tint to her green eyes, “push.” 

Wanda grips the rails of the bed, gritting her teeth as she follows the instructions, trying to focus on pushing low, feet pressing into the hands. Her body begins to shake with the effort and she figures it is okay to stop, lessening the effort and then a “Don’t stop until I say to stop” keeps her going, tears pooling along the edge of her eyes as she increases her effort.  ‘Okay, stop.” 

She falls back against the pillows, breathing in staccatos that break apart her request into more syllables than necessary. “I--ice, p-please?” Vision drops her foot, scooping a spoonful of ice into her mouth, hand smoothing her hair. 

The doctor calls him back, the line on the monitor rising again and with the command to push, Wanda braces her hands and feet, putting all of her strength into the push, but she can feel her powers brewing, a reflex to rely on them when her body is in trouble. Her mind scrambles as she attempts to temper the rise of red around her body, the nurse holding her right foot yelping and dropping it. “Wanda?” Vision comes back to her during the break, offering her more ice, the concern in his voice stuttering her name as it exists his lips.

“I, I can’t focus on my powers and this.”

His blue irises take on a worrisome spin, thoughts rushing in a whirlpool as he searches for a solution. “Can you channel them towards me?”

“I can try.”

When the next contraction approaches, the nurse is back at her foot, eyes terrified and body language similar to a frightened and cornered animal. Wanda realizes she can’t look at her, instead locking eyes with Vision who calmly nods at her as he raises her foot. She pushes again, an immense pressure on her body that weakens her muscles and tests her fortitude after not eating anything for almost nine hours and not moving from a bed for over two weeks. But she funnels her powers to Vision, watches as the red expands around her body and rushes towards him. She can feel his density shift to take the hit, hand around her ankle remaining at a normal level but his chest, which the bottom of her foot is pressing into, becoming rock hard. Only when Dr. Wadan yells stop does he respond, body stumbling under the weight of Newton’s third law. 

The next push there is a new nurse at her foot, and Dr. Wadan continues to talk her calmly through it, transitioning from yelling to a gentle “You got this Wanda, you got this.”  The ice cup runs out after the fifteenth push, Vision phasing through the wall (a terrified shriek from the next room means he didn’t think that plan through well) and returning through the doorway this time with new ice, just in time to grab her ankle for the next push. 

Wanda can feel herself despairing, body tired and muscles screaming in pain, but then she hears “Push” and she has to pretend as if every fiber of her being isn’t fighting back, that the pain doesn’t exist, and the only thing that matters is counting the rotation of Vision’s irises. A spoonful of ice and shaky kiss to her forehead becomes her reward after each push. But during the next one there is a new reward. “I can see the head, you’re so close Wanda, just have to get him over your pelvic bone.” 

It’s then that the atmosphere in the room changes from apprehension to excitement, and it’s what she needs in the moment, re-centering her thoughts on the idea that soon she can meet this little boy that’s been kicking her bladder and punching her diaphragm, that she’s formed such a unique connection with even though she’s never once seen him. “Okay Wanda, push.” Her knuckles grow white, reflecting the scarlet glow of her powers as she grunts in effort. “Keep pushing, Wanda. Dad, want to look?” 

Wanda keeps pushing but decides, as she senses Vision leaning over to see what is going on, that she has no desire to see this through his eyes, and so she removes that tendril of their link. But the amazement that courses through his mind, awakening in him an intangible, ineffable astonishment renews her purpose to push harder. “Stop.” Her chest heaves as she falls back against the bed, the spoonful of ice refreshing against her tongue and the kiss from Vision filled with a powerful, unshakable love.  

“Get ready, you are so close to getting him over the bone Wanda, push harder than ever before in three, two, one.” Her body tenses with the sheer force of the push, a deep, guttural moan giving her an extra boost of strength and she feels something shift.

A posh and uncharacteristically impolite “Holy shit,” comes from Vision’s mouth and she focuses on his wide eyes as he takes in whatever just happened. 

“Wanda, stop. One more push and this baby is out, got it?”

A comment like that seems too direct to be true, but Wanda hopes and prays, an oddity for her but everything is worth a shot right now, that it is not a falsehood. As the next contraction builds she braces her feet and pushes, a feeling of something slipping out of her, a collective gasp and the sound of a piercing, pissed off cry confirming that it’s over. Wanda opens her eyes, vision blurred by the tears pouring out, and takes in the wave of tiny arms and legs, the thin layer of black hair on the head, and the way his eyes are scrunched up, wrinkles puckering his fresh, unblemished skin. She gasps at the change in their mental link, overwhelmed by the immediate and visceral sense of discomfort at the cold air and the bright lights. Out of her periphery she can see Vision move, can hear him being instructed on cutting the umbilical cord, but she doesn’t pay attention, instead focused on their baby. Then the nurses take the baby from the doctor and place him in the warming bed, hands moving gently to gather all of the measurements. 

Vision glides behind the doctor, moving between Wanda and the baby, floating into the air to get a better view. “Wanda,” the doctor’s voice pulls her back, “you did wonderfully, but you still have one more in there. Don’t push yet, I want to check his position.”

Whatever is happening doesn’t phase Wanda, still focused solely on the crying coming from her right and the desire she has to hold the baby in her arms, to know he is real and okay. Then a disturbing sensation permeates the neural link she has created. It’s not Vision and not from the baby on the table. She brings a hand to her stomach to increase the link, heart dropping at the waves of distress she’s picking up. A lower, seemingly unheard whisper leaves her mouth, bringing up her concern, “I think something’s wrong.”

“Wanda,” her eyes meet the gold-flecked irises of the doctor, whose face is set into a terrifyingly direct focus. “He’s getting too stressed, we need to work fast.” No one else seems aware of their conversation, all attention drawn to the one baby out. “Vision,” he turns towards them, eyes confused and thoughts desperately attempting to catch up on what is happening. “Wanda needs to push again, I need you to either attend to your baby or come and help your wife. Neither choice is correct and neither is wrong, but if things go badly, I can’t have you standing right there.”

He stands frozen, eyes wide and mouth agape, one hand raised in the direction of the baby and the other hovering at his side. Tentatively his eyes move towards the baby but then the beeping from the heart monitor for the second twin grows frenzied and his body sways towards Wanda. His thoughts churn relentlessly, a sickeningly deep guilt clouding his mind at leaving their child but an equally desperate and petrified image in his mind of not helping Wanda and losing the second baby or worse, the baby and Wanda.  It breaks her heart to see him in such anguish and so she decides to make the choice for him, lifting her hand, about to point towards the baby, but instead he grabs it and walks to her side (a guilty wave of relief taking over Wanda’s mind at his choice), a resoluteness developing in his eyes as he kisses her forehead before resuming his position at her feet. 

The heart rate monitor continues to beep frenetically and Wanda can feel panic settling on her shoulders. “Can I push?”

Doctor Wadan examines her again and nods. “On the next contraction push with everything you’ve got.”

And she does, each and every contraction she pushes to the point of agony, sweat drenching her skin and powers engulfing her body.  When his heartbeat flatlines the fear on the face of the doctor is enough to stop time, mind dizzy and overwhelmed, but a golden glow pushes itself into her thoughts, feelings of strength and hope warring against her despair. She hears a “One more push Wanda, I’ll get him out.”  The next contraction rises and she follows their voices, feeling herself detached from her body, surrounded by the guilt of not being enough, not trying hard enough to save this one, but somehow she manages to push and feels the rush between her legs. But there is no cry this time, there is no bloom of amazement from Vision, instead there is a wetness on her stomach and she glances down to see her child, skin a bluish tint, cord wrapped around his neck and the calm, collected hands of the doctor unraveling it. A team of green clad nurses rush in, one of their badges identifying them as the NICU crash team and they take the baby from her view. 

The world seems to fade away, the room darkening and the sounds blurring, she can make out Vision’s voice and the soothing intonations as he speaks to their son, she can hear the terse commands of the nurses, senses someone’s hands pushing on her stomach to get the placenta out, but she doesn’t know how to function, can’t bring herself to move, to breathe, to talk. And then she feels a hand on her face, looks up to see Vision at her side, a crying infant in his arms, and she finds solace in the tears spilling over the ridges of Vision’s cheeks. “Vizh?”

“Do you want to meet him?”

Apparently she nods, and a squirming, upset body is placed on her chest, Vision bringing her arms up to hold the child. Wanda looks down, meeting barely open, dark gray eyes and she smiles, bringing her finger to trace along his tiny, crusty cheek. “Hey there.” The baby flops his head on her chest and stops crying, at the same time she hears a cheer from one of the nurses and hears a new cry come from the room. “You should check on him.” 

Vision nods, moving away from her towards the nurses and the swell of relief that crashes into her mind is enough to let her body relax, to allow her to fully enjoy the heat generated between her body and the baby that is now asleep on her chest. Time passes, she’s unsure how much just that it is shy of eternity, whatever that means, and Vision comes back with another baby in his arms. Wanda can’t stop herself from laughing, which really comes out as a sputtering, wholly unattractive screeching sob, but Vision looks utterly ridiculous, his godly body and unimaginable powers reduced to a nervous wreck who can’t seem to figure out how best to hold a baby that is maybe the length of his forearm. Carefully he places the second baby on her bare chest, grabbing the blanket from the floor and covering Wanda and the twins, and then he takes her chin in his hand and kisses her tenderly. “You are amazing." Vision moves his hand to her shoulder, squatting down so that his head is level with hers as he takes in the babies on her chest. "Should we name them?”

“Probably.” Wanda shifts her body to have a better view of their twins, heart stopping and tears flowing when the first baby seems to sense his brother, throwing his weight around enough to flop his head and arm to the side, their bodies now touching. “Do we stick to the plan?” Three days ago they’d discussed how to name the boys, knowing the two names they wanted, and it ended up in mutual agreement that it would be determined on birth order. 

Vision smiles down at them, fingers sifting through her hair. “I believe so. That means this guy,” he points to the first baby, “is William.” The other part of their agreement was that they would each determine a middle name, and so he pauses, anticipation growing at her decision.

“William Edwin Maximoff.” The surprise on his face is as gratifying as she hoped, smirking up at him with a wink. “You wore me down. And this one is Thomas…”

Vision reaches out to run his finger along the baby’s back. “Thomas Django Maximoff. You didn’t want Pietro but,”

“You still snuck his middle name in there.” 

He gives a nonchalant shrug, “It seemed fitting.”

“It is.” Wanda pulls the babies tighter against her chest in a hug, bending down to awkwardly place a kiss on each of their heads. “I guess we should probably tell everyone about the new Maximoffs so Steve doesn’t pace a hole in the floor.”

Laughter is a welcome sound in the room, particularly when it is the sing-song lilt of Vision’s joy, and she hopes that is the prevailing sound for all the years to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been dreading this chapter the entire time, strongly considered never writing it, but after writing the rest of the story I figured it would be a cop out to just be like "Oh no, Wanda is having contractions...8 hours later...babies!" So, I wrote it with one hard rule in mind. I wanted to avoid making this some magical, wonderful perfect labor, because I think society forces women to view it that way and it's damaging. There is also this unspoken rule that you don't talk about the downsides of the experience (any part: conception, pregnancy, labor, post-partum), that you need to just smile and say that everything is great and wonderful. But that is rarely the case. Since having my son a bit over a year ago and dealing with the repercussions of a very traumatic birth, including post-partum mental health issues, I feel like I can't join with the norm and lie about everything. So I never wanted to sugar coat this, it is hard physically and mentally. There is nothing wrong with you or a loved one if they struggle with it, the worst thing you can do is diminish their experience and their feelings.This includes the other parent, post-partum depression is a real concern for non-laboring parent as well, so don't diminish their experience either. But please don't take this to mean there aren't wonderful moments, because there are serenely perfect, utterly beautiful moments too (and lots of shit, seriously, so much shit). So I've been attempting to keep a balance of both the good and the bad. Hopefully it's working. 
> 
> Anyway, that's probably too much information. I'll most likely delete that bit tomorrow. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. The next one will be the last and we'll get to spend some time with Wanda and Vision as parents.


	9. Together? Together.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Vision begin to navigate parenthood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the last chapter. There's a fluffy note at the end, if you want to read it. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!

For his entire (relatively brief in comparison to others) life, Vision has taken solace from the quiet, empty hours in the middle of the night, held them sacred for the same reasons the others do: a chance to revitalize, refresh, condense what has happened in the day prior. Currently there is no beeping noise, no yells, no crunch of ice chips nor cries of pain, only a subtle whir from the fan he set up next to the bed and occasionally the rolling of wheels outside the door. It is peaceful. 

Vision glides towards the bed, hand resting on the plastic guardrail on the side, and smiles down at the serenity that has finally fallen on Wanda’s face, though even in her sleep the peace is a facade, as he can feel the way her dreams flicker through the hours before this, mind working furiously to catalogue the harrowing pain that seems to go hand-in-hand with euphoric joy, teasing out the important factors so that when she wakes up she can find a path to cope. Nights like this, when he can feel her mind warring with itself, he usually remains at her side, fingers brushing through her hair and nudging her thoughts gently with reassurances whenever they get too dark. But now, in what should not have been a surprise and yet has caught him off guard, he cannot become the calm sentinel at her side without sacrificing his responsibilities elsewhere. Vision bends down, brushing his lips against her forehead and whispering an “I love you,” before turning to the north side of the room. 

At Wanda’s request, there is only one bassinet, a plastic tub lined with a soft blanket that sits on a wheeled cart and inside they rest. Up until this point the youngest individual Vision had ever encountered was Nathaniel Barton, yet even then the boy was already one before Vision met him. It is fascinating to him then to gaze upon the two, tiny bodies in the bin, skin around their closed eyes scrunched into a frenzy of branching wrinkles, chests rising and falling so easily, so naturally that he had never considered the way an infant’s body knows how to function enough to survive, that it could go through such trauma and still lead into an easy slumber hours later. As he reaches out to fix the blanket that shifted up too high onto their faces, his head is dizzy with the conglomeration of amazement, awe, adoration, nervousness, fear, and love spinning in his mind, but the brightest, clearest, most salient, fingertip running along William’s cheek (or so the helpful W embroidered on his hat suggests), at the moment is relief. 

Thomas lets out a weak grunt, face contorting into brief displeasure before softening back out, skin blushing from the exertion but fading back until it is once more pale. Though public perceptions are already skewed towards disbelief in Vision’s role in the conception, he had hoped (verbally and mentally silently, lest he provoked Wanda’s ire) they would not inherit his complexion, certain that the lives of their boys would already be an uphill battle, one that does not need to be hindered by an inability to blend in. Vision knows he can handle the public dismissal of his paternal right, knows he has learned (mostly) to not internalize the comments and the sneers from those who view him as lesser, but he also knows that he would never wish it upon anyone else. So he is relieved at their pale skin, but what he didn’t expect was the deep, beguiling anguish at neither having electric blue eyes. 

The door swings open, sterile, fluorescent lights flooding the entry to the room and Vision watches as their current nurse slides into the room, quietly shutting the door and tip-toeing towards him. “Hey there.”

“Good evening.”

The woman steps up next to him, fingers gentle as she plucks the edge of the blanket and examines the bodies of the twins, other hand briefly touching their stomachs, likely assessing their temperature. “How’s everything going? Any issues?”

Vision shakes his head, realizing only after the nurse turns to him in concern that she wasn’t looking at him to see his response. “They have all been asleep.”

“You know you should sleep too, that’s the number one rule now, they sleep, you sleep.”

He watches as her fingers push the wool-knit hats up far enough to examine the pulsating bubble of skin on the top of their skulls. “I do not require sleep.” A curious  _ huh _ mixes with the grunt from Billy as she shifts his feet to the side. “I do have a question-”

“Alright, let’s hear it.”

“I have noticed the indicator line on the diaper changing colors, is it advised to change it immediately?”

The nurse wraps the blanket snuggly around their bodies, tucking the corners down to avoid any chance of it shifting while they sleep. “Number two rule, if they’re asleep, leave them be, they’ll let you know if they’re uncomfortable.” Which seems an easy enough rule to follow though he doubts it applies when they are awake but determines that is a question for later, when it is most relevant. “You know,” her voice draws his attention and Vision finds her brown eyes scrutinizing his face and then turning back to the slumbering babies, “they have your nose for sure, hard to tell the rest in the dark. Anyway, once they all wake up go ahead and hit the call button, I’ll need to do an actual check-up then. Congratulations.”

Vision does not notice her exit, hand lifting unconsciously to touch the tip of his nose as the corners of his lips lift a fraction of an inch.

  
  
  
  


Wanda startles awake less than an hour later, gasping for breath and eyes wild. “Where are the babies?” 

The panic in her voice alarms him, Vision returning to her side, sitting on the bed and bringing his hand to cup her face. “Wanda,” she stares at him, fresh tears falling down her face as her mouth drops open to ask the question again, “they are across the room,” Vision turns her head 45 degrees, “right there.” 

Her breathing slows down, mind clicking back into reality. “Sorry, I-” she drops her head against his shoulder, what sounds like a self-deprecating laugh but might be a sob is muffled by his sweater. “I had that dream again, I thought.” 

“They are real, Wanda, and they have been the entire time you were asleep.” Vision wraps his arms around her, lips pressed against her scalp as he holds her tightly to his chest. 

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” She disentangles from his grasp, though not before she steals a kiss from him, devoid of passion but filled with love, thanking him for being there. Vision stands from the bed and watches her wince as she swings her legs to the side, a disconcertingly painful gasp forcing its way between her lips when she tries to stand up. Falling immediately back into their routine from before, Vision phases through the bed, meeting her on the other side and gripping her hands, hoisting her out of bed. Another pained gasp forces his brow to furrow, eyes sweeping along her body to identify what is wrong as he walks with her, concern building at the limp in her gait and the clenching of her teeth with each new step. “Do you want my assistance in there?” 

Wanda’s lips pucker in time with the scrunch of her eyes and shake of her head. “I’m trying to hold onto some dignity here, but I will let you know if that changes.” 

Once the door shuts, Vision moves away, hitting the button on the railing of the bed with a picture of a person and an exclamation mark, alerting the nurse as she requested. The peace from before resettles but is gone in an instant, a gut-wrenching sob coming from the bathroom sends electric shocks down his spine, but as he prepares to intervene, a high-pitched wailing to his right catches him in its crossfire. Vision freezes, mind flashing unwillingly to the day before, to this exact choice. He attempts to clamp down the rising panic as best he can, determining in his long night of self-reflection that there is no reason he can not help both if he plans it accordingly, and so he moves to the crying baby.  Carefully he slides his left hand under Tommy’s neck and his right under his knees, lifting him up slowly so as not to disturb his brother. But what he failed to consider, as he brings the screaming, thrashing baby to his chest, is that the shared blanket is now on the floor and the second the cold air hits Billy he too begins to cry, eyes shutting harder, mouth open, and fists clenched.  

Vision attempts to shuffle Tommy in his arms so as to make room for Billy, but can’t seem to figure out how he is then supposed to pick up the other baby. Another sob comes from the bathroom and Vision turns towards it, assessing the distance and possibility of helping all three. His attention is drawn back to Billy who’s crying keeps intensifying and Vision reaches down his free hand (still completely uncomfortable balancing Tommy in one arm) to soothingly rub his face, but this only seems to increase the screams. He next decides to try switching the babies out, but as he lowers Tommy back into the bassinet, his crying renews and Vision quickly pulls him back to his chest, assuaging one source of panic. 

Then, like a guardian angel, there is another body at his side, gentle, steady hands picking Billy up and cradling him, a soothing  _ shhh _ breaking the tension in the air as the nurse bounces on the balls of her feet. “How’s it going?”

The answer, Vision believes, should be clear as he is certain his face betrays everything. “Wanda is in pain as well.” 

“I bet, here, sit down,” the nurse guides him to the leather recliner, nodding her head towards it and grinning once Vision sits down. “Okay, you just sit like that, good, now I’m going to put,” she stops long enough to look at the tiny ankle tag on the baby in her arms, “William in your other arm and you just stay there.” All he can manage is a terrified nod as he bends his left arm to offer a space for the baby that is carefully (albeit he thinks a bit too quickly) placed in his arm. “See not so bad, I’m going to check on mom, you just stay here. Keep them close to your chest, let them start to learn your heartbeat and talk to them. They already know your voice, let them know it’s okay.”

The woman smiles at him before rushing to the bathroom, a quick knock and  _ Wanda? _ the apparent password to get into the bathroom. As the door closes, Vision stares down at the now mostly calm boys, an occasional whimper and tremble of a lip the only indication that the world was ending less than a minute ago. He tries to remember how he’s seen people speak to babies while also trying not to fall into the trap of his first attempt ever to comfort another person, saying an unhelpful  _ there there _ and patting Wanda’s back. It still amazes him to this day that she ever spoke to him again, much less loved him, married him, and now planted the roots for a long future together. “Shh, you are okay.” Neither cries and he considers it a temporary success. 

Eventually the bathroom door opens and Wanda exits, the nurse right behind her, and Vision fights his instinct to stand and rush to her, cognizant enough to remember he has two babies in his arms. Wanda flashes him an unsteady smile to convey that she is fine. “How’s it going,” she winces as she steps up to his side, hand coming to rest on his shoulder, “Maximoff?”

“All is well here, how are you?” 

A nonchalant shrug lets him know not to push the issue, that in time she’ll explain what transpired but for now it is not a large enough concern for her to want to share. “You all look comfy.” 

“The chair is quite comfortable.”

Her smile grows steadier, a tenderness softening the last lines of pain branching from her eyes, and he watches as she grabs her phone from the table next to the bed, “Smile.” 

  
  
  
  


Vision did not anticipate the amount of people that would be moving in and out of their room nor did he understand the levels of discomfort he would feel during their encounter with each new person. At 10am a technician came into the room to collect a blood test, a friendly slant to his mouth as he explained he’d only need to prick the twins’ heels and get a drop or two of blood on a card. The man instructed them to hold the babies, to whisper soothing words and he seemed so calm about it, so sure. But when the needle broke the skin and the inevitable wailing arose from each baby, Vision felt an abnormal protectiveness grip his chest, an uncomfortably misplaced anger at the man collecting blood on a card. The touch of Wanda’s hand to his arm was enough to calm the raging thoughts, her own thoughts clear and hopeful, reminding him this is routine, and as with most pain, it will pass as well. 

But his discomfort is not only with the tests being done on the children (which again, rationally he understands needs to be completed), but every hour a nurse stops by, checking on the babies and then moving to Wanda. He finds himself uneasy in watching the way Wanda winces when they press down on her stomach, gauging the amount and flow of the blood still coming from the internal wound where the placenta used to be attached. Then every two hours they call in the lactation consultant, Billy already a, as Wanda fondly calls him, champ at eating, but Tommy struggling to latch to Wanda’s breast. Vision hovers at a safe distance to allow everyone space, watching with interest as the consultant helps open Tommy’s mouth and works with Wanda to get him to eat. The tears that roll down her cheek each time concerns him, all the books suggesting this process shouldn’t be painful and yet clearly his wife is in pain. 

Really, that is the crux of the issue, that Vision cannot do anything to help them, cannot take the pain away, cannot even feel it, and yet he knows his family is hurting, can feel his skin crawl each time he hears Wanda’s cries echo in the bathroom, gait unsteady when she exits, but she insists it is not worth bringing up to the nurses. Thankfully she does allow him to help her into bed, gives him a purpose and drive to ease the tension. 

But there are moments of joy too, of watching Wanda hum Sokovian melodies to the boys, the way she can calm their crying by simply placing them to her chest, allowing them the comfort of hearing her heart once again.  The wide, beaming smile on her face whenever she watches him hold the babies, or the first time he successfully changed a diaper. Those moment are beautiful, peaceful. 

  
  
  
  
  


At 3pm they find themselves alone in the room, the twins wheeled away to complete their hearing tests, and a strange stillness settles around them, the knowledge that there are no diapers to change and no cries to sooth for at least an hour. Vision determines now seems an ideal time to follow through on a plan he made before they ever left for the hospital. He stands from the recliner and moves towards the duffel bag on the couch, shuffling through the contents until he finds a small, blue box. “What are you up to, Maximoff?”

Vision turns towards her, a nervous smile on his lips as he walks to the bed, taking a seat next to her. “I wished to give this to you.” 

A quirked eyebrow and an uptick of amused curiosity on her mouth greet his words, her hand hesitantly reaching out to grab the box from him. He watches as she opens it, heart racing at the possibility that she will not like it, that it will have the opposite of its intention. “Vizh…” Tears well up in her eyes as she lifts the ring from the box, four bands of metal, overlapping each other, each one dotted with a birthstone: two sapphires, one emerald, and one garnet. Carefully she slides it onto her right ring finger, rotating her hand left and right to study it in more detail. “I don’t....come here.” She reaches out and grasps his sweater, pulling him towards her until their lips meet, and he closes his eyes, relishing the feel of her lips curving up into a smile. When they part, she keeps her grip on his sweater, their foreheads resting together. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

He’s confused when her smile fades, an odd guilt weighing down the edges of her mouth until it drops fully into a frown. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“I do not need anything other than you and our sons.” 

A beautiful, gentle laugh greets his words, a laugh he has not heard in what feels like eternity, though it likely has only been a couple of days, but it is one that is free of pain, free of worry, of insecurities, of apprehension. “Now you’ve made me cry again.” Vision grins at the roll of her eyes, brings his hands to hers, stopping them from wiping the tears, allowing him to kiss each one away, bringing more blessed laughter to the room.   
  
  
  


“Are you certain you are okay with this?” Vision stands at the door, fingers wrapped around the handle as he awaits confirmation of his next actions. 

“I think it’s a bit late to change our minds.” 

“Very well.” With an unneeded sigh he turns the handle and opens the door, smiling and stepping aside as their teammates pile into the room, excitement brimming from each one as they take their places around the room. 

Natasha and Sam go to Wanda first, congratulatory hugs and coos of  _ how cute! _ at the sleeping baby in Wanda’s arms, Billy clearly unable to deal with all of the excitement. Rhodes approaches Vision, glancing down at Tommy, who is in the bassinet having a staring contest with the ceiling, and then bringing his hand to grip Vision’s shoulder, shaking it fondly. “Congrats man, so happy for you all.”

“I, thank you.” Vision finds himself at a loss, much like on their wedding day when person after person congratulated him for something that, though monumental, was such an easy decision he feels as if he shouldn’t be praised for simply loving Wanda. To him only Wanda deserves congratulations today, but he knows that it is socially frowned upon to point that out. So he turns his attention to Tommy, scooping him up to bring the baby closer to Rhodes’ view, “This is Tommy.”

“Why hello there little man.” Rhodes raises his fist and lightly taps Tommy’s own balled up hand. “Dude, he totally has your nose.”

“But Wanda’s cheeks and ears,” Sam joins them, bending low to bring his face level with the baby’s, “how’s it going Tomster?” Though Tommy doesn’t reply or even look at Sam, the man carries on as if he has some secret telepathy with infants. “Good good, hopefully your brother isn’t a blanket hog. So,” Sam moves his gaze to Vision, an easy smile on his face and his arms crossed, bringing his typical level of calm casualness to the room, “give me the details, I need to know how much money I won.”

Vision finds his head cocking to the side, thoughts parsing out the comment as he sifts through the potential details Sam wants. Most probably he does not want to know the step-by-step of the labor or even the issues since then, and then the notion of money puts everything into perspective. He raises a finger to delay answering as he opens the drawer beneath the bassinet, pulling out the information he thinks is desired. “According to this Billy was born September 2nd at 8:13pm, 18 inches long, and 6 pounds 3 ounces.”

“Alright,” Sam pulls out his phone as he listens to the information, “and Tommy.”

He flips to the second page of the packet and begins to read through it, “Tommy was born September 2nd as well at 8-” Sam is no longer a concern to Vision, his mind instantly focusing in on Wanda, body moving before he has time to consider that it is rude to interrupt her conversation with Nat and Steve. “Wanda.”

“Vision?”

All eyes are on him now but he remains focused on the task at hand. “Billy was born at 8:13pm and Tommy at 8:25.”

A gasp followed by more tears comes from Wanda as she takes in the information, but the revelation is interrupted by a loud cheer from Rhodes as he proclaims, “I told you all they’d be 12 minutes apart, I finally won something!”

The rest of their teammates chatter about the new information, someone takes the sheet from his hand to finish informing everyone of the statistics and the winners, but Vision’s attention is fully arrested by Wanda, making sure to catalogue every tear running down her cheeks and every wave of happiness that rolls off of her as she smiles down at the baby in her arms. Steve’s voice eventually cuts through the moment. “We should probably get out of your hair, but Gerard,”

“Who we stopped from coming with us,” is added by Natasha.

“Yes, he was quite insistent but we thought you’d rather avoid that, but he said we need to take a family picture for the newspapers. It’s the only way they agreed to not sending paparazzi to the hospital.”

Wanda grins up at Vision, free hand reaching out to interlace their fingers as she tugs him onto the bed. “How do I look?” 

“Beautiful as always.” Leaning in to kiss her, with each of them holding a baby, is a tad more challenging than expected, but Vision doesn’t allow it to deter him, capturing her lips for a chaste, reassuring moment, the flash of a camera and an overly dramatic  _ aww _ ruining the moment.

Steve takes several more pictures, Natasha and Sam scrutinizing the options over his shoulder until they deem that one of them is acceptable. Eventually they all leave, promises to come visit and invitations to bring the boys to the compound hang in the air.  

  
  
  
  


Later that night, Tommy wrapped in a blanket on Wanda’s chest as she reclines in bed and Billy snuggly in Vision’s arms, his eyes open and intently staring roughly at Vision’s face, he asks the question he’s been wanting to since the night before. “Wanda, do you think they have my nose?”

He watches as she stares down at Tommy, swaying from one side to the other to get a fuller view of his face, she even bends down to get a good profile view. “You know, I could see it, but I’ve always been bad at identifying features in babies.”

“I,” it is entirely probable, in fact highly likely, that she is well aware of his thoughts on the matter, has a complete understanding of where his mind is running, but he continues anyway,  “was hoping one of them would have my eyes, to relinquish the gossip articles of their ability to question who their father is. I fear a nose is not enough.” 

The response in her mind is immediate, a scarlet flair of anger, not at him but at the reminder of what they have faced and what they will continue to face, but there is also a burst of sorrow as well, and Vision finds he cannot watch her work through it, knows that she has picked up on his continued insecurities in proving he is the father, instead focusing his attention Billy, whose tiny hands are reaching out at nothing. Vision hovers his finger above Billy, having watched both boys grip Wanda’s fingers, he hopes the result will be the same for him. “I was talking to the nurse,” Wanda’s voice brings his gaze back to her, but he happily notes the minuscule, weak pressure of a tiny fingers wrapping around his own, “she said their eyes keep changing until they’re about 12 months old, so it’s still possibl-- Vision.” Her voice trembles as her eyes move from his face down towards Billy.  Curious as to the sudden departure in her thought Vision follows her gaze and his breath catches.  

As Billy’s grip tightens around his finger, the boy’s own skin shifts, matching Vision’s crimson tone almost perfectly, and then he lets go with a gurgle, skin returning to it’s original pale color. There was never any doubt that he would love his children, having already loved them before they were born, but the confirmation, the clear and present proof of their connection tightens his heart with pure, utter, elation. Vision bends down to kiss Billy’s forehead, awed by the softness of his skin, and then he turns to Wanda, whose cheeks are flushed by the effort of smiling so broadly, her hand resting fondly on Tommy’s stomach. This is perfection. 

  
  
  
  


Two days later they are released from the hospital. Two days he feels is not enough, particularly when Wanda cannot make the walk to the car and needs the assistance of a wheelchair to deal with her pain. But two days is all they are given. 

The ride home is quiet, both boys asleep in their carseats and Wanda snoring quietly with her head pressed against the window. It is peaceful and Vision smiles, thinking back to the day Wanda first told him of the news, of his wholly imperfect reaction. Since then he has experienced far more variations of emotions than he thought possible, the rush of euphoria at the news, the crash of despair at the implications and their first medical scare, the uncertainties and disbelief in this happening, the feeling of tears on his cheeks when they discovered he was truly the father, and the unease in the past months of coming to terms with being a father. Yet already fatherhood is not what he expected, not as clear cut and simple as the books and movies and advice columns make it out to be, and he knows this exercise in identifying emotion will only get more difficult. 

He pulls the car into the driveway, glancing one last time into the mirror at the sleeping babies, knowing full well it will not last, and then he reaches out to Wanda, nudging her shoulder with his hand. “Wanda.”  A groan and a turn of her body away from him lifts the corners of his mouth in amusement. “Wanda we are home.” Five more pokes and a nudge to her mind finally forces her from her sleep. “Do you need help out?”

“No,” she rubs the weariness from her eyes, breathing in deeply and then releasing it in a sigh, “I can get out.”

Vision squeezes her hand quickly before exiting the car, carefully unlocking one carseat and placing it on the ground and then walking around the car to remove the other child. He lifts both seats in his hands, momentarily surprised at how heavy two infants can be when encased in a plastic seat, and waits for Wanda to join him. Together they walk up the stone paved pathway to their porch, wait as Wanda fumbles with the keys until the door is unlocked, and then they walk in, placing the car seats on the ground. The house is quiet, minus a light sheen of dust everything is in the same location as it was three days prior, the wrapper from the cupcake Wanda was sneaking still crumbled on the coffee table and the pillows on the floor where they fell during a contraction. 

“So,” Wanda stands still next to him, mind rippling anxiety, “what now?” 

It’s not until the words leave her mouth that he is able to pinpoint his own growing terror, his eyes moving from the cupcake wrapper back to the sleeping faces of their twins. For the first time there is no nurse that will be coming in an hour, no doctor stopping by to see if everything is okay, no consultant aiding Wanda in feeding the babies, no hero to rush in and take a crying baby from frazzled parents. They are completely alone with two small, fragile, tempestuous humans. “I guess,” he reaches down and grabs her hand, squeezing it reassuringly, “we do what we always do.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure where to start here. I guess the best place is thank you. Thank you to every single one of you who read this, who stuck it out with me to the end (but also thanks to those who read it even if they didn't make it here). Thank you for the kudos, it is reassuring to know people like it. And a huge, heartfelt thank you to those who left comments. I'm not joking when I say comments are the cocaine of fanfic writers, seriously they make you feel so good and I honestly don't know if I would have been able to write this whole story without your continued support. Nothing makes me happier than knowing people are enjoying the story, because my main reason for writing is to bring people enjoyment. Yes I love Scarlet Vision, but I could just have these thoughts in my head and be content, but being able to share them and bring others happiness means way more to me.
> 
> This is the longest story I've ever written, like I seriously don't know how it got to be over 50,000 words. I looked it up, if this was a printed novel that would be like 200-250 pages. This story was never meant to be this long, never meant to really go into this much detail about the process. When I started it it was going to be 3 chapters, one per trimester. And well, then things got away from me. This is also the most difficult story I've ever written as so much of it pulls from my own experiences and that's a terrifying thing to share with strangers on the internet :). This story forced me to have to relive and re-work through issues I'd only recently gotten over but I think that's a good thing. There were so many more ideas I wanted to put in here, so much that could have been said, but I'm happy with the results for the most part. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading this I truly, honestly hope you enjoyed it and would be delighted beyond words if you let me know. If not, that's fine too, I still appreciate you more than you can imagine. 
> 
> And from here I need to take a break, grade about 500 pages worth of student papers, and when I get back, you bet your asses off I'm going to finally finish writing a story I've been working on to speculate as to the events of all those delicious set pictures that have been released. 
> 
> Have a wonderful day everyone!


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